


Spar With The Truth

by orphan_account



Category: Covette (Band), Dayshell (Band), Of Mice & Men (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Austin is jealous, Homelessness, M/M, Panic Attacks, Shay's homeless, Teenagers, To Be Edited, Unresolved Sexual Tension, alan panics a lot, im not sure how to tag this, the pacing gets better as it goes on i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2019-01-03 22:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: this has been orphaned due to recent allegations about shayley bourget and sexual misconduct and i will not support that or have that in my books.





	1. Pity Pictures

Shit. Shit. Fucking shit.

Hi world, I'm Shayley Bourget, and I'm a new member to the homeless community!

"What am I doing with my life?" I mutter to myself as I haul my backpack over my shoulders, getting off of the ground. I had been sitting in an alleyway that was covered because it was raining. It had stopped, so I figured, for shits and giggles, why the hell not go for a walk?

I head out of the alley and continue walking down the streets of Lake Elsinore. Ain't it fun living in the real world?

No.

I spot a coffee shop, Starbucks. It makes my stomach rumble, but I don't know if I have enough money to spare for a coffee or one of their spectacular pastries. I suppose this is a good time to check my expenses anyway.

I sit down at one of their outside tables, putting my backpack on my lap before proceeding to open the thing.

As I rummage through the messy contents of my backpack, looking for my damn wallet, a boy sits down across from me. At my table. I don't even know this guy. Odds are, he's probably a scumbag who wants to steal my money. I don't look like a homeless man, but how many people that have houses do you see walking around with a backpack lugged on the shoulders everywhere they go? Exactly.

I take a quick glance at him, studying his features. He looks to be my age, possibly a little bit younger, with flaming red hair. He must've died it if it that's fiery. The perfect mix of orange and red. If that's his natural hair, then damn, he's got mighty fine nice hair.

He's drinking a coffee of some type. I didn't look long enough to tell what it was. He wasn't paying attention to me. He's still not. He's scrolling through his phone, probably on Instagram or Twitter. Tumblr maybe. It's definitely got to be a social network of some type.

I finally find my wallet and open it to find that I'm even broker than I thought I was. I could've figured that there were at least a hundred dollars in here, but there can't be more than fifty the least! Someone must've stolen some from me. That, or I really am just that delusional.

I decided that I shouldn't even waste my time here, especially since I can't afford to buy anything here. It means another day of starving. Well, I guess I can't really say 'another day' since I was only kicked out of my parents' house and my band today.

Today wasn't a good day if you hadn't have guessed.

"Hey," the boy across the table says, putting down his phone. I flicked my eyes up to look at the boy, noticing that his eyes are a sharp hazel. A deep golden brown that matches his perfect hair.

This boy is my definition of perfect, and I haven't even learned his name yet. That's pretty low for me. Or pretty high for him. Oh, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore.

"Hello," I reply back a few moments later, clearing my head from his mesmerizing eyes.

"I'm Alan," he says, a small grin appearing on his face. Now that's one adorable smile...

Shayley, stop hitting on guys you don't know.

"I'm Shayley," I say, returning the small smile as I place my wallet back into my backpack. I bury it down towards the bottom so that anyone who tries to steal it has just as many problems finding it as I do. Maybe more, if I get lucky.

"Hi, Shayley," Alan chuckled. "So why do you have that big backpack?"

"Reasons," I answer. Nice try, boy. I am not telling you things that I don't have to. I don't know you!

"Like... What kind of reasons?" he says. "There isn't any school in July."

"I know," I say, beginning to get fed up with him. This isn't a game of Twenty Questions, or at least I certainly hope it isn't.

"Alright, alright. I get it. You don't want to tell me anything because I'm a stranger to you," he says. I nod.

"You got that right," I respond.

Alan chuckles, getting a piece of paper and pen out of his pocket, scribbling down some numbers.

Did I just score some stranger's number?

"Here, take this," he says, sliding the slip of paper across the table. I look down at it.

_Alan Ashby, 021-1673-7370 :)_

So that's his name, his full name. Alan Ashby. AA. I bet his parents really took advantage of that last name.

"Alright," I say cautiously, placing it in my pocket. "I don't have a phone, though."

"What?!" Alan says, surprised. "How do you not have a phone? You look at least eighteen, you gotta have a phone!"

"I'm seventeen, thank you very much," I mutter. "And I don't have a phone."

"You look older than you are," Alan says softly. "I'm sixteen."

"Really?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "You look like you're fifteen or something."

"I'm not," he replies quietly.

"Hey hey, there's no reason to be upset," I say in an attempt to comfort him. I could see him tense up, and I know he's thinking about something. About what? I don't know.

"I'm not upset," he says defensively, looking away from me. I hadn't said much, but it looks like I seemed to make the poor boy mad or sad, or something. I can't tell. He's got a strong facade going on.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"I'm sure, okay?" he hisses. "I'm fucking fine, Shay."

Shay. Nobody's called me that before, and honestly, I kinda like the nickname. It's something I wouldn't mind getting used to hearing.

I sit back down in my seat, looking down at the table.

"I'm sorry," I whisper quietly. I don't know what I did, but I feel really bad. I didn't mean to make him unhappy. I'm sure he'd get over it though, he seemed like a peppy boy.

"Why?" he asks, trying to cover a sniffle. "You don't have any reason to apologize."

"I thought I bothered you," I explain, fiddling around with my fingers on the table. I tend to do that when I'm nervous, and I'm not quite sure why'd I'd be nervous at this current moment in time. I mean, really, I just met the boy for cryin' out loud.

"No, it wasn't you," he responds a few moments later.

"Alright," I say, trying to fill the awkward silence, but it makes it worse -- if that was even possible with the amount of uneasy tension in the air.

"It's just me," he whispers quietly. I look up at him immediately. I don't think he meant to say that out loud, especially with how he barely spoke the three words. But nonetheless, I still heard him, and that made me worry. And even though it's very hypocritical of me to be scared of him doing things that I've done, and sometimes still do, I am worried. Something about knowing people who are like this makes me worry, and even if I hate them, I'll still worry the fuck about them.

"Alan, look at me," I demand, but in a soft voice. He looks up at me. He tries to mask the anxiety and depression clouding his face, but he can't get past me. I'm a master of detecting these things in people. It's like if a suicidal person walked into town, I could tell.

Okay, I lied. That was a bit of an exaggeration.

"You shouldn't be bothered by yourself," I say in a small voice to make sure I don't scare him, and to make sure no pesky eavesdroppers hear. There are those kinds of people everywhere, and I particularly hate them -- even though I sometimes do it myself. I don't do it on purpose, it just happens that those people are talking loudly and it draws my attention, even if I don't give a single shit what they're talking about. It's annoying, honestly.

"Why?" he asks. "My parents hate me, and I'm not that good looking."

Lies.

"Well, first off, when you first sat down, the first thing I saw was your fiery hair. And you know what? I like your hair," I say. "It fits you."

"St-"

"I'm not lying. And I wasn't finished," I say, cutting him off. "Your eyes are a nice honey-golden brown, and this is so cheesy, but I could get lost in your eyes because that's how fucking nice they are."

"Did you just hit on me?" Alan asks, raising his eyebrow. Well, it's my time to freak out now. I don't do well around homophobes, or assholes in general.

"Um, w-what?" I stammer, attempting to play it cool. If you hadn't noticed, I'm failing terribly. "N-no way!"

"It sure sounded like it," Alan smirks. I feel my face grow hot. This isn't going how I exactly wanted it to go.

"Uhh.." I say, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

"What?"

"I write songs," I blurt out, mentally slapping myself. Out of everything I could've said to change the subject, I fucking pick songwriting -- not to mention that my songs are somewhat personal.

"Oh, cool! Me too! High five!" he says excitedly, raising his hand in the air. I respond to the high five instead of leaving him hanging. "What kind do you write?"

"Um.."

Good job, Shayley, you fucking dumbass.

"I have a song notebook," I say. And there goes another facepalm. Shayley, do you not know the word personal?

"That's awesome. I keep mine in a journal too, and sometimes on my laptop, which I carry just about everywhere. I don't have it today, though," he says.

"I wish I had a laptop," I say without thinking. I should go to a hospital, my brain clearly isn't working if I keep saying these things without meaning to.

Alan looks down at the table, sadness in his eyes. "Is all you have in your backpack?" he asks quietly. I nod slowly. That one clue should really give away the answer to the question he asked me earlier today.

"Are you homeless..?" he questions cautiously. I sigh, looking down at the table once again.

"Since today, I am," I answer truthfully. I wasn't a homeless freak yesterday. Nope, today was the day of hell.

"I've never known a seventeen-year-old who was homeless," he says.

"Well, you do now," I reply.

"I guess. Does that mean you don't have anywhere to stay?" he asks.

It literally takes all of my wills to not facepalm, because that is exactly what the fuck a homeless person is.

Alan, you fucking idiot.

"That would be correct," I answer once I've managed to not say anything about his idiotic question.

"You can stay with me if you want," he offers. "I live alone."

"You don't live with your parents?" I ask. I am confused.

"Nope. They kicked me out when th- Never mind."

I don't push it.


	2. Call It Saving Lives, Call It Anything You Like

"And this is my humble abode," Alan says as he unlocks the door to his apartment. It wasn't much, but hell, it's better than living in some type of moldy cardboard box behind a dumpster while it's pouring outside.

"It's nice," I tell him, following him inside. I close the door behind me.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Bourget," he chuckles, setting his keys on the table. He doesn't have a car so we had to walk here, but I'd walk miles for a place to stay.

I don't like the outside much, but a place to stay is a place to stay, and I'd take it. 

"Could I have a tour so I know where everything is and everything?" I ask.

"Well, duh," Alan scoffs. "You're gonna live here, of course, I'm going to give you a tour!"

"Okay," I say, mentally rolling my eyes at my dumb question. "Thanks again." 

"It's only a one bedroom apartment, so you can have my bed. I'll sleep on the couch," Alan says as I follow him down the only hallway. I shake my head immediately.

"No way, you sleep in your bed," I say. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"You're the guest, you sleep in the bed," Alan replies.

"Technically, I live here now, so you can keep your bed and I will sleep on the couch," I protest.

"Well if you really want me to sleep in my bed, you're sleeping in the bed with me," he says, annoyed.

"Did you just imply that you want to sleep with me?" I ask.

"Uh, no," he stammers dumbfoundedly. It takes nearly all my strength to keep myself from laughing my ass off.

"Mhm," I say quietly, dropping the conversation.

"This is the bedroom," Alan says a few moments later, opening the door to his bedroom. "Where people sleep."

"I thought people slept on the couch," I say sarcastically. Alan rolls his eyes.

"Yep, I sleep on the couch," he replies.

"Nope, I will sleep on the couch," I giggle.

"No, I will sleep on the couch," he retorts.

"You sleep in the bed."

"No, you sleep in the bed!"

"Does that mean we both sleep in the bed?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Stop making me...." he whispers quietly, trailing off. I furrow my eyebrows.

"Stop making you what?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"N-Nothing," he stammers, his face growing into another shade of red. How many colors can appear on this kids face? Man, soon his face is going to be the rainbow.

Alan leads me down to the end of the corridor, with two doors. One on the left and one on the right. He points to the left first.

"This is the bathroom. The rule is if nobody's in it, keep the door open," Alan tells me. I nod. That should be an easy rule to follow.

He then points to the right.

"Fire escape," he says simply. "And of course you've already seen the kitchen and the living room."

"I have," I reply.

"You can put your bag in the bedroom," Alan tells me and walks off to the living room.

I open the door to him, or our, bedroom and set my backpack down at the foot of the queen-sized bed. It had a baby-blue colored blanket with multiple pillows. It looks comfortable.

There's a bookshelf to the right of the bed. It was mostly empty, except for a few books. Of Mice And Men by John Steinbeck, a collection of Shakespear's books, Romeo And Juliet the one with most copies. There were a few movies in the bookshelf too, but not many. 500 Days of Summer, The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, The Conjuring, the SAW series, and Spaceballs were there. Some notebooks were placed on the bottom shelf, near the floor, but I don't take a look at them. They might be his songbooks he was talking about earlier and I don't want to invade his privacy. He seems like the type of person to value his songs and write personal stuff. I might ask him about it later.

There was a cherry-wood desk to the right of the bookshelf, with a MacBook laying atop of it. There was a folding chair in front of the desk. It didn't look all too comfortable.

In lower right corner, there were two small speakers set up, a guitar stand holding a shiny black ESP EII Horizon in the middle. It looked expensive. I wanted to play the guitar, but I settled with leaving it alone. I'll ask Alan about that later as well.

In front of the bed, there was a T.V. sitting on the floor. There was no cable provider hooked up to the tele, but there was an old Xbox 360 hooked up to the T.V. with a small stack of games next to it. Call of Duty was there, including Ghosts and Modern Warfare. Mass Effect was another, and surprisingly, Just Dance 2 and 3. I wanted to see Alan play that. I add it to the list of things to ask Alan about.

To the left of the bed, there was a grand piano, which pretty much took up that entire corner. Once again, it looked expensive. I had to stop myself from running to it and playing tunes. I loved pianos and guitars, music in general. I'm sure Alan and I would get along.

On the left wall, there was an old-fashion looking dresser, with a mirror on top. The mirror had all kinds of sticky notes on top of it. Some were simply reminders to do things like essays and clean his room (there was a large pile of what I assume dirty clothes in the middle of the floor). Others were notes of encouragement (how cheesy). The last few were notes of hateful thoughts.

"Go to Hell" "Fuck off, ginger faggot" and "You're pathetic" were what some of them read. I was beginning to worry about Alan. I won't ask him about it, it isn't right for me to intrude on something I didn't have permission to read about in the first place.

But if something happens, I'm gonna make sure he's okay. I don't like seeing people get hurt. Especially people I know, and especially people that let me live with them on the first day of meeting them.

To the left of the dresser was a half-circle glass table that had been adjusted to stay against the wall, and on the table was a printer, some cartridges of printer ink (most in color), and a wooden box. I didn't open the wooden box. That would be invading his privacy, and that wouldn't be good.

I walk out of the bedroom and down the hall. I spot Alan in the kitchen, and I go to see what he's up too.

"Hey, Shay," he says as he dances around - I can see why he owns Just Dance now - cooking up something that smells delicious.

"Hey," I say, sitting down at the breakfast bar. "What'cha cooking?"

"Food," he answers nonchalantly. I roll my eyes.

"What kind of food?" I ask, rephrasing my question.

"Edible food," he replies.

"Gee, you don't say," I say. "Hey, I saw that smirk, wise guy."

"Oh, did you?" he asks innocently. I playfully rolled my eyes.

"Yes, yes I did," I respond. "Now can you please just tell me what you're cooking?"

"Alright, alright. You got me," he chuckles. "I'm cooking up bacon and omelets."

"Breakfast? At seven o'clock at night?" I ask dumbfoundedly. Alan nods.

"I call it, 'Breakfast For Dinner'," he answers. "You'd be amazed at how good this shit is."

"Never knew that shit would taste good," I reply sarcastically. 

"Oh be quiet, Shayley, you know what I meant," Alan replies, laughing. He turns around with an empty pot, filling it with steaming water.

"Alright, alright. You got me," I mock, holding my hands up in defense. Alan flickers his eyes up to me and rolls his eyes.

"You're stupid," he laughs. He looks at the pot as it fills up with the water.

"I am not," I protest, crossing my arms like a kindergartener would when he got mad. I even do the signature pouty face.

"Stop doing that face, it makes you look too cute," Alan says. Cute? I'm not cute. 

"I might as well keep doing it then," I reply.

"Hmm?"

"You said-" I begin, but I cut myself off. "Because, uh, you said that I should stop."

"That's not very nice," he says, doing a pout of his own. He turns off the water on the sink.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'll be nice."

"It's okay, it's adorab-" Alan begins as he picks up the pot without oven mitts, "SHIT, JESUS _FUCKING_ CHRIST, HOLY BALLS, MOTHER OF GOD!"

Alan just burned his hand. 

"Don't put it under cold water," I tell him.

"Why the hell would I not do that??" he asks frantically, holding his injured arm by the wrist with his other hand. He waves it around as if it were on fire and he was trying to "wave off" the flames. 

"Because that makes it worse," I explain. "The burn would get worse since it's being contacted by a completely opposite temperature." His eyes bulged out.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna lose my hand!" he shouts, freaking out. I can't help but facepalm this time.

"God forbid you to live on your own," I mutter. "Come with me, I'll help you."

"Okay, okay! Yes, help!" he says quickly, following me down to the bathroom.

"Let me see your hand," I say, holding my hand out. He places his hand onto mine, and I feel an electric shock. I furrow my eyebrows. "Why'd you shock me?"

"I didn't..." he trails off nervously. I shake my head, dropping the conversation immediately and begin to look for things to treat his burn.

"I'm going to put your hand under warm water, okay? It isn't hot so it won't burn your hand. It will cool it off," I say. Alan nods.

"Yes, Doctor Bourget," he says, giggling. I roll my eyes playfully and smile.

I turn on the faucet, checking the temperature to make sure it's lukewarm.

"Are you ready?" I ask. Alan nods. I take his hand and gently submerge it into the warm water.

"Huh? Whaddya know, that kinda feels better," Alan says.

"What did I tell you?" I roll my eyes, grinning. "Warm water is better for burns than cold water or ice."

"I don't get how, but I mean, yeah, okay," he says.

"Let's bandage your hand up now," I say. "Do you have any gauze or anything of the type?"

"Yeah, it's in the medicine cabinet," he answers, pointing to a cabinet with a small mirror on the front. It's located next to the door, on the right.

I open up the cabinet and find the box instantly. I grab the box, opening it to find just barely enough to fix up Alan's hand.

"I think you'll need some more gauze after I fix your hand," I tell him. He nods.

"I guess I'll go to the store later this week," he shrugs. "I'm kinda accident prone and get hurt a lot. I probably shouldn't live alone, like you said, but I mean, hey, you're here now, so..."

I softly grab his hand, beginning to wrap the gauze around it as I chuckle at Alan's statement. The burn wasn't too bad. It'll probably heal in just a few days. 

I tape up the gauze and let go of his hand.

"There you go!" I cheer. "You're all fixed up."

"Thanks, Shaybay!" Alan yells happily, wrapping his arms around me, encasing me a hug - which I didn't expect. I hug him back, smiling. I could get used to this, his hugs are nice and comforting.

Shaybay. That's another new nickname from Alan. Maybe I should give a nickname for Alan since he's given me two nicknames already. Strange how we've just met and we already have nicknames. Or, well, at least Alan has given me two. I shrug the idea off.

"No problem, Alco," I say. Alco. Probably should've thought that through before choosing that one. Shayley, let's not bring back the "this-co" and "that-co" jokes. 

Alan smiles at me, his eyes flickering to my lips for a split-second. Should I even question it? It's probably not worth it. I mean, I've only known Alan for a couple of hours. It's gotta be just in my head. 

He then trotted off back to the kitchen.

"Shit! They burned!" he shouts angrily.

"We're fucked!" I yell. 

"More you than me because now you won't be able to try these pieces of magic. But I can't take the credit, my friend Aaron taught me how to make these," Alan says.

"Damn," I say. "I really wanted to try this 'Breakfast For Dinner' thing."

"Well, you can try it tomorrow then. I'll order us some take out. Chinese sound okay?" he asks. I nod.

"Sure. I'll help you pay," I say.

"No, no, this is your welcome gift," Alan insists. "It's all on me."

"No, that isn't fair. Letting me live here is enough of a gift," I tell him. "Please just let me help you pay for the food."

"Fine, only this time," he says.

"Good enough for me," I tell him, walking to the bedroom to get my wallet. I unzip my backpack, digging once again for my wallet. Once I find it, I hear Alan walk into the room.

"What'cha want?" he asks.

"Fried donuts and chow-maine," I answer. I pull out a twenty from my wallet, leaving me with about forty dollars to spare. I had about sixty to begin with - which wasn't much. I hand the twenty-dollar bill to Alan, but he shakes his head.

"Ten eighty-five?" he asks, which I assume he just repeated the lady. "Okay."

"15120 Grand Avenue," Alan answers.

"Yes, that is all." He hangs up the phone. "They said about thirty minutes."

"Alright," I respond, scratching the back of my neck.

"You okay?" Alan asks. I nod.

"So, what are we going to do in the meantime?"


	3. Cue The Kiss

"Uh... Maybe..." Alan trails off, flickering his gaze to my lips once again, for the third time tonight, or so it seemed. "Let's play a game?"

"Yeah, sure, what game?" I ask, sitting down on the floor with him.

"It's a game called 'Twenty Questions', but with a few changes. I call it the 'Ashby Version'," he explains, grinning. I roll my eyes.

"Explain," I say.

"The rules are, you have to ask reasonable questions, you have to answer every single one honestly unless you feel uncomfortable answering it, and you can only ask one question per turn," he says. I nod. 

"Alright, let's do this. You can go first since you're younger," I say.

"Oh, I almost forgot that another rule that was youngest goes first," he chuckles. "Okay, my first question is, do you play guitar?"

"Fuck yes!" I answer. "As soon as I saw your guitar, I've been eyeing the fuck out of it. It looks rad."

"Why thank you," Alan replies, smiling. "Your turn."

"Umm..." I begin, unable to come up with a good starter question. I have made so many, and I can't think of one that'll go easy on the kid. "What's your favorite band?"

"Linkin Park, hands down," he answers. 

"Nice," I say. Alan laughs. "They're pretty cool. Hybrid Theory's my favorite album."

"Yeah, same!" he responds. "What happened today?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You said you became homeless today," Alan says. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking? I don't want to invade on your privacy or anything, I'm just curious."

"Uh, yeah... About that... well... I got kicked out of my parent's house..." I trail off. 

"Oh."

"And I tried to stay at my band's studio because there's an extra room there, but then I got kicked out of my band," I explain. "I don't know what I did."

"What happened, with you and your band?" Alan asks.

_"I think it's time our band broke up," Raul suggests, but I shake my head._

_"Why?" I ask him and Jordan. I wonder if Sebastian felt that way too._

_"Covette's time is just up, I feel. We've got a lot to look forward to, and I feel like Covette just isn't in that future. It's just not Covette's time anymore," Jordan tells me, but I shake my head again._

_"But everyone loves our songs! And take a look at the sales at Machines Are Taking Over," I protest. "Look at all these comments, these kids, these other people, they love us. The plays that we have on our Myspace page are skyrocketing!"_

_"I'm sorry, Shay," Raul replies. "But Jordan and I are out. I don't know about Sebastian, but we are."_

_Sebastian walks into the studio as if on cue, entering the conversation._

_"Yeah, Shay, I'm sorry. I agree with Jordan and Raul and I sold the studio. Besides, Science Records went out of business. We don't have a label anymore, we're not signed, we're nothing now," Sebastian says. I stare at them in bewilderment._

_"But, why?" I ask. "What happened to our band? I thought you guys loved it, you know, making music! All of these guys love us, and now you're just abandoning the band? That isn't what a band's all about, whether we're signed or not! We still have fans! We still have passion, don't we?"_

_"Well, it is what it is," Sebastian replies, followed by an agreement with Jordan and Raul._

_"So Shayley, you can get your shit and get out."_

"Wow... that... That sucks man," Alan says, leaning over. He offers me a hug and I accept it. A lot of shit has happened today, and it's quite strange. "Your turn now."

"May I play your piano?" I ask, pursing my lips. Alan bursts out laughing.

"That is a stupid question for this game, but you can play anytime you want. But not if someone's sleeping," Alan answers. I grin.

"Fuck yes!" I yell, fist pumping. "Your turn."

"Show me a song you've written," Alan says.

"That's not a question, that's a demand."

"Fine. Can you show me a song you've written?" he replies, rephrasing his sentence. 

"Alright, alright. You got me," I grin. I pull out one of my colored notebooks and look through the Table-Of-Contents I put in every songbook I have. I choose one called 'An Intimate Waltz'. I hand him the book.

"You dickhead," he laughs, looking down at the paper, reading the song aloud.

_"Uncertainty is the essence of romance  
We close our eyes and contemplate with awe  
The winding roads we walk lead us there so play the last song for me _

_Cue the kiss so anxious  
I want this to last for centuries  
Apprehensive bliss ecstatic for this moment  
We were eternal  
Broken promises to ourselves worth every second  
Yes every moment_

_Uncertainty is the essence of romance  
We close our eyes and contemplate with awe  
The winding roads we walk lead us there so play the last song for me _

_And if I stay in key can I open up, open up your heart  
In this moment we are eternal   
Hand in hand we are two-step dancing  
Yeah We're two-step dancing_

_Take me higher, take me higher, take me higher  
And as the distance grows   
We are still conjoined through spands of time _

_Uncertainty is the essence of romance  
We close our eyes and contemplate with awe  
The winding roads we walk lead us there so play the last song for me _

_We were a song that night  
We are a song tonight." _

"Wow," he says a few moments later. "That was really good."

"Thank you," I say, a small blush creeping onto my face. 

"Your turn now," he says. I nod.

"Hmm.." I trail off. "Can you show me a song you've written?" 

"Sure," he says quietly, a few moments later. He crawls over to his bookshelf, looking through the numerous notebooks on the bottom shelf. I guess my prediction was correct. Those are his songbooks, or at least some of them are. Others could be for school, maybe drawing.

"Here you go," Alan calls, passing a light green notebook my way. "The song is called 'Bones Exposed'." 

I flip to the page titled 'Bones Exposed' as Alan had said, and read it aloud as he had read my song.

_"It's like loving a lion that cannot be tamed,  
I snap at the thought or the sound of your name.  
Pulling teeth from my stomach,  
you've been eaten alive.  
My blood fills your lungs,  
my soul, you're inside._

_My feet they stand on ashes from the fires that you've made.  
Burning bridges just to save your face._

_If I say I wouldn't be hostile,  
could you say you would do the same?  
If we're all made just a little bit broken,  
tell me who is to blame?  
tell me who is to blame?_

_I'm sensing a feeling picking wounds of regret,  
That left alone there's no scarring I'll dig and I'll dig,  
Scratching and itching I'll keep biting my lip,  
from this pain that I'm feeling,  
picking wounds of regret._

_A cut cannot heal,  
unless you leave it alone.  
I'll open mine daily,  
leaving bones exposed._

_If I say I wouldn't be hostile,  
could you say you would do the same?  
If we're all made just a little bit broken,  
tell me who is to blame?  
tell me who is to blame?_

_Standing on ashes from the fires you've made,  
burning your bridges just to save your face._

_Wounds of regret._

_If I say I wouldn't be hostile,  
could you say you would do the same?  
If we're all made just a little bit broken,  
tell me who is to blame?  
tell me who is to blame?_

_We're broken, imperfect,  
We were all made the same.  
We're broken, we're broken, imperfect,  
we are all to blame." _

"Wow," I say quietly. "That was really good, Alco." 

I need to come up with a better nickname for him. 

"Thanks," he says sheepishly. I hand him his notebook back as he hands mine back to me as well. 

"Your turn," I say. He nods. 

"Sing to me," he says.

"Alan, that's still not a question." 

"Ugh, fine, man," he groans. "You make my life hard. _Will_ you sing to me?" 

"Well, what do you want me to sing?" I ask. 

"An Intimate Waltz," he answers. I laugh. 

"I have that recorded on an extended play my band had released a few years back," I tell him. "Did you want to hear that?" 

"Could I hear both?" he asks. I laugh again. 

"I'll sing for you when you go to sleep, how about that? And I'll play you the song now," I tell him. He nods. 

"Okay," he says quietly. 

I pull out my iPod, the only electronic device I have, and go to 'Covette' and open up 'Spar With The Truth - EP'. 

"Are you ready?" I ask. He nods. "Okay, here it is." 

I hit play on 'An Intimate Waltz', which is the fifth song out of six. 

"Your band is really good," he says. I smile. 

The music begins to reel me in, and I can't help but sing along to my own voice. I still have every lyric to every song we ever wrote memorized, and I probably will end up keeping them memorized. I don't want to give up on music, and I won't. I refuse to. Music is my life, and really it's the only thing that makes sense to me. And I love performing it in front of others. Aside from my slight stage fright problems, I'd like to do that for the rest of my life. 

"Your turn," Alan tells me as soon as the song ends. It was a quiet four minutes and eight seconds -- aside from my singing and the song.

"Why do you keep looking at my lips?" I ask without thinking. Alan's face turns into a fiery red, and then that's when I recognize what I asked. I bite my lip anxiously, feeling a bit bad for putting him on the spot like that. 

"Um... You're not a homophobe, right..?" Alan asks slowly. I shake my head immediately.

"Uh, absolutely not!" I say. "I am gay and totally proud." 

"Well..." he trails off.

"Speak your mind," I tell him.

"I like you.." he told me. I smile.

"I like you, too," I respond. 

Alan crawls over to me and cuddles into my side. I look over at him, studying the intentions he held in his chocolate eyes.

"Cue the kiss, so anxious," he whispers, quoting the song I wrote. He leans in slowly, his lips colliding with mine. They're soft, warm, tender. I've never kissed anyone before, but I do know that I like this. I enjoy this. I feel electricity running throughout my body, running through my veins. I've never felt something like this before, and I can be sure when I say that I like it. Alan licks my lips with his tongue and I pull away from him. I give him an odd look, opening my mouth to question his actions but a knock on the door diverts my focus. 

"Alan?" I say.

"Mmm?" he replies, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.

"The Chinese food is here," I tell him. He sighs.

"I don't wanna move," he whines.

"Well, unless you want us to starve to death and possibly get arrested for not paying for the food..." I trail off. Alan looks at me and rolls his eyes.

"Fine, but you'll have to go get it," he tells me, handing me eleven dollars.

"Why?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

"Like I said," he says, "I don't wanna move."

"Fine," I grumble, getting up and walking out of the bedroom and to the front door.

"Ten dollars, eighty-five cents," the man tells me. I nod, handing him the eleven dollars Alan had given me. 

"Thank you," I say, closing the door as the man walks down the hall. 

I put down the bag of food on the portable table that Alan calls his dining room table and head back to the room to get Alan.

I look around, but there was no sign of Alan. He probably went to the bathroom or something.

"Alan! Food's on the excuse-for-a-dining-room-table!" I call out as I head back to the dining room.

I take everything out of the bag, placing everything on the table so that way there's no digging around in the plastic bag, which has the typical smiley face on it, for their food and makes a mess. 

I go into the kitchen, grabbing a fork for my chow-maine and see that Alan has walked out of the bathroom. He's only wearing plain Hanes boxers. I ignore the sight and the emotions it's starting to ignite. I don't need this right now; I need that chow-maine in my mouth. 

I go sit down at the table, looking at the different bags for my fried donuts. Those magical baked goods taste like absolute heaven. 

"How much food did you order?" I ask Alan, amazed with all the food he had, and especially since it was only roughly eleven dollars out of our pockets. 

"A shit-load," he answers, grinning.

"Wow," I reply. "All this for ten eighty-five? That's amazing."

"That is why I love this Chinese place. The only place I'll order from; they've got amazing prices."

"I can see that," I respond. 

"Yep. Eat up," he grins with a mouthful of some chicken wings.

"They have chicken wings?" I ask. 

"Oh yeah!" he says. "They're super sweet; it tastes almost as good as a fried donut."

"Liar," I say. "Nothing tastes as good as a Chinese fried donut. Can't ever top a fried donut."

"These do."

"I do not believe you," I say. 

"Suit yourself," he replies, taking one of my donuts. I roll my eyes, but I let him have it. 

We finish our Chinese food pretty quickly, and then we clean up all the boxes. Alan puts away the leftovers in the fridge and I throw the empty boxes and bags away. And then we go back to the bedroom. 

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, heading towards the bathroom.

"Hey, wait," I call. Alan turns around to look at me, furrowing his eyebrows. 

"Hmm?" he replies.

"I uh..." I trail off. How am I supposed to say what I want to say? I don't even know.

"You'll...?" Alan says, clearly confused.

"I'll um.." Fuck it.

"I'll be um, here," I say. Alan rolls his eyes and laughs.

"Okay," he says and then walks into the bathroom. "Weirdo!"


	4. Solve This Mess I'm In

"I'm back," Alan says, startling me. I was writing a new song, but I hadn't gotten much down yet. I had a chorus and a few lines for the first verse. Like I said, it wasn't all that much.

"Oh, hi," I say, closing my orange notebook. It was the only notebook that I had space left in.

"What'cha doin'?" he asks, plopping down onto the bed next to me.

"Well, I was writing a song," I tell him.

"Can I read?" he questions, leaning his head on my shoulder.

"It isn't much, but sure," I say, flipping toward the back of the book. I'm going to have to buy another book soon. He looks at it, reading it aloud.

_"Today the presence's over, awake the dead for closure_

_Believing in true, I love you_

_A waste of space is cliché  
The thought of endless betraying me like a fool  
So who needs you?_

_Lay me down, on the sea  
You're the crook side of criminal that hardly can breathe  
And I know, you've done this before."_

"I should've written more."

"It's good," Alan tells me, yawning. "It's past midnight, we should get to sleep."

"Okay, do you have any extra blankets?" I ask.

"Why?" he asks dumbfoundedly.

"I'm sleeping on the couch," I say.

"No, you're not. You sleep right here," he replies.

"I don't want to take your bed," I tell him.

"Then we'll sleep together because you're not sleeping on that couch," he says. I start laughing.

"What's so funny?" Alan whines, pouting.

"So..." I trail off, trying to stifle my cries of laughter, but I just can't help it. "We're gonna... 'sleep together'... Eh?"

"Shut up," he mumbles. "But yes. Yes, we are. Now get ready for bed."

"Fine," I mutter, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and my favorite long-sleeved crewneck. "I shall change in the bathroom."

"Alright, I'll be here," he says, mocking me from earlier. I roll my eyes, sending him a playful glare.

"Meanie," I mumble, heading off to the bathroom. I close the door behind me, locking it so he doesn't barge in. I don't know if he's that type of person, but I'd rather not take my chances.

I pull my black Pantera hoodie over my head, and my gaze moves from the ground to the mirror. It was a habit of mine that I needed to get rid of. I couldn't help it. Whenever there's a mirror, I try to never look at myself, but when I'm alone, I always do. I hate that my judge myself, but it's something that I can't help. I don't want to be that guy with the low self-esteem, but I am. I am, and I hate that this is who I am.

I look down at my wrists, seeing the faded white lines; the scars from previous years. The others were faded red lines, some pink. More recent, but I've kept myself clean for a good two months. It's an achievement. One I haven't accomplished in a very long time.

I pull over the dark cool grey crew neck. It was plain, but nonetheless, it was the most comfortable thing I owned.

I shimmy out of my black skinny jeans. I was never sure why I always felt the need to own and wear the skinniest of skinny jeans. I've found them comfortable, but a pain in the fucking ass to put on and take off. 

As soon as I get them off, I slowly run my nimble fingers over the pink lines. They were puffy and scabbed over.

I grab my grey sweatpants and quickly slide them on, opening the bathroom door. I held my other clothes in my hand so I could place them in my bag. I just have to make sure I wash them later.

"I see you're back," Alan says. He was already tucked under the blanket, sitting up, and his shirt off. I didn't know if he was wearing pants or not, but I was hoping he at least had boxers on.

"Indeed, I am," I chuckle, closing the bedroom door behind me.

"Aren't you hot in that?" he asks, pointing to my clothing that covered most of my body. I shook my head.

"Not really," I shrugged. I was a bit warm, but I've gotten used to sleeping like this, and I've gotten used to walking around with bracelets and long sleeves all the time. It wasn't something I was proud of.

"You look hot," he says bluntly. "And I mean that in both ways."

"I'm not hot," I reply. "But thanks."

"You've got to be lying. With them both, you've got to be lying," Alan tells me. I shake my head.

"I'm not overheating and I'm not all that cute," I say. "I'm not that perfect."

"But stay awhile and just see-"

"Did you read my journal?" I ask, cutting him off. He was quoting a song I had written awhile ago.

"No," he responds. "Why?"

"Those were lyrics to a song I wrote called 'When You Can't Sleep At Night'," I tell him.

"Oh, that's cool," he says. "Now come sleep, you can show me in the morning."

"Alright, alright. You got me," I say, walking over to the bed and crawling in with him.

He kisses me, wrapping his hands around my neck. I return the kiss.

Alan licks my lips, opening his mouth wider. He moves a hand to my hair, tugging on it, which causes me to gasp. Alan takes the opportunity to shove his tongue into my mouth.

Thanks, Ashby, really wanted that muscle in my mouth, y'know.

Alan attempts to get more intimate, causing me to panic. I push him away, shaking my head and run out of the room. I land myself in the bathroom, locking the door behind me. 

'Shayley, you're so stupid,' my mind nags to myself. 'You ran away. You can run from your problems, but you can't run from yourself!'

"Shayley?" Alan calls, knocking on the door. I don't get up, but I quickly (and quietly) shut the shower curtain.

"Shayley, are you alright?" Alan asks as he knocks again.

"Go away," I whimper, ignoring his question. Intimacy wasn't for me, not now, not right now. Maybe not ever. I didn't need it; it was something that wasn't for me. I had no experience and the idea of it gave me discomfort. I hadn't thought much about it in the first place but... Alan went so quick. I wasn't ready. I'm not ready. 

"No, I'm coming in," he says and I hear the lock beginning to jiggle, meaning he either has a key or he's picking it.

"N-no," I stutter, and that's when I realize that I'm crying. I notice the tears pouring down my face; it was rare for me to cry. I get upset easily, but if you've made me cry, then you've really stopped down low but this wasn't Alan's fault. This was my own.

The shower curtain disappears, revealing a concerned and worried looking Alan. Instead of asking the typical 'what's wrong?' Alan climbs into the bathtub with me and pulls me into a hug. I really needed that.

"Now, tell me what you're hiding from me," Alan says a few minutes after I've managed to calm myself down.

"I'm not hiding anything," I sniffle. Alan scoffs.

"You're crying in a bathtub because I kissed you, and you're telling me that there's nothing wrong?" Alan asks. "Either you've got to be lying or you really don't like me."

"I don't dislike you," I whisper quietly.

"Then can you please tell me what you're hiding? You can trust me," he says. "Here, I'll tell you something about me if that'll make you feel better?"

"Okay," I say, nodding. "Please."

"I'm an alcoholic and I'm only sixteen," he says. "Ever since my aunt died, she was really the only one in my family who cared for me. I was kicked out of my parents' house too."

"Really?" I ask dumbfoundedly. He nods.

"Yes, really," he says. "Are you more comfortable telling me now?"

"A little," I reply.

"Go ahead," he says. "If you really don't want to tell me, you don't have to. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I was scared," I begin. Alan stares at me blankly.

"There's gotta be a reason why you're scared," Alan says.

"I was scared that you'd judge me," I say. "Judge me for these."

I pull up my sleeves, holding out my arms for Alan to see. His eyes widen, as he gently runs his fingers over the scars and cuts.

"Shayley..." he trails off, reverting his attention back to them.

"Please promise me that you'll try your very best to stop doing this to yourself," Alan says softly, pulling me into another hug.

"I promise," I say and genuinely mean it.

"Together," he whispers into my ear. "We'll solve this mess we're in."

"Together," I whisper back as Alan begins to fall asleep.

"Together."


	5. Would You Come Hold Me If I Need Someone?

I wake up to an aching back.

"Ow, God... Why is my back killing me?" I question aloud, opening my eyes to see a passed out Alan laying atop of me.

"Alan, hey! Get up!" I yell. I didn't want to push him off, as that'd be rude and he might get hurt. After all, we're both in a bathtub.

"Mmmm?" Alan groans, getting off of me. "Wait, what the hell?"

"Why are we in a bathtub?" I ask.

"I dunno. My ass hurts," he whines. I roll my eyes.

"My dick hurts," I mock.

"Meanie," he mumbles, getting off of me.

"So what're we gonna do today?" I ask

"I work at Guitar Center, so you're coming with me," Alan says. I laugh.

"Alright," I say, getting out of the bathtub. "God, fuck, my back is killing me."

"You okay?" Alan asks with concern lacing his eyes.

"Because saying my back is killing me is definitely a way of saying I'm all fine and dandy, Alan," I groan.

"Alright, alright. You got me."

Here we go again...

"Al?" I say.

"Yeah?" he replies, throwing a blue polo shirt on the bed. It had 'Guitar Center' written in the corner.

"What happened last night?" I ask. "The last thing I remember is you comforting me in the bathtub."

"We probably just fell asleep there," he says. "I mean, it explains why our bodies are wreathing in pain. Or maybe we had a one-night stand, who knows?"

"Are you serious? A one-night stand?" 

"No, doofus, I'm joking," he tells me. "We weren't drunk or on drugs so I'm sure that we'd remember anything like that. Like I said, probably just fell asleep."

"You had me scared that I lost my virginity without remembering it," I tell him without thinking.

"You're a virgin?" Alan asks in amusement. I nod, my face growing hot.

"I'm not..." he trails off quietly. "...and if we ever do I hope we remember protection."

"I don't have any S.T.D.s," I tell Alan.

Alan looks down at the floor, sighing. He sits on the edge of the bed and buries his head into the sweaty palms of his hands.

"I don't know if I do or not," he mumbles, twiddling his thumbs.

"What happened?" I ask cautiously, sitting down next to him. I place my hand on his lower back, rubbing it in gentle circles.

"I j-just," he stammers, bursting out into a fit of sobs. I wrap my arms around Alan, pulling him into a hug.

"I'm a fucking whore, Shayley!" he cries out, sobbing harder. "And I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself!"

I was on the edge of tears myself. I was never one to enjoy seeing people cry, and it always made me want to cry with them, being a sympathy crier and all but I couldn't cry right now. It was the inappropriate time to do so as I needed to get Alan back up on his feet. He was my priority right now.

"Shhh, it's okay," I whisper into his ear, rubbing his back.

"No it's not okay," he sobs. "I'm a stupid fucking whore, and it's not okay! It's not okay, and I promise you that I'm not okay!"

"Alan, shh," I say, trying to comfort him. "Please don't say that. Tell me what happened, and we can get through this together." I refer to the conversation we had yesterday. The only difference is that yesterday I was the one crying and freaking out.

We were both two teenagers living on our own, and the problem about that is that we barely know anything about each other. We didn't know the pasts of each other and we didn't know why the other was abandoned to live on his own in the first place.

We only knew bits and pieces of each other, and that was barely enough for us to keep each other alive. In a way, that was scary. We know how to stay alive, but we don't know the others' weaknesses or their strengths. And that scared me. It truly scared me.

"Since m-my parents kicked me o-out," Alan begins, unwrapping himself out of the hug. He still stays close, fiddling sound with his fingers. "I didn't k-know what to do. M-my aunt, s-she helped me pay for this place. She knew I-I didn't want t-to to leave California, and she was I-in Vermont."

I nod, letting him continue.

"But after she d-died, I couldn't afford to stay, a-and I had nowhere to g-go. I tried to get a job, but that didn't w-work..." he trails off, looking at me with his golden eyes full of sadness, sorrow and regret. It doesn't take much for me to figure out what he'd done for the money to stay.

"Please don't hate me, Shay," he begs, tears falling down his cheek once again. I quickly shake my head, cupping his face in my hands.

"Don't say that," I whisper, wiping the tears away with the tip of my thumb. "I could never hate you."

"Do you promise me that?" he asks sheepishly, and I nod.

"I promise you, that I will never leave you," I say, and press my lips to his. His soft, warm lips.


	6. Jealous Eyes

Alan and I had both gotten ready and Alan realized that he was going to be late for work if he wasn't done before ten o'clock. We were running late anyway.

"Shay?" he asks shyly as we walked. We were only a block away from Guitar Center. We both could see it clearly, and he had ten minutes to clock in before he was marked late for the day. I'm pretty sure that we'd make it there in time. It isn't too far away.

"Yeah?" I reply, looking at him as he stops walking. I stop for a moment, turning to face him.

"Can you hold my hand?" he asks cautiously. I smile.

"You can hold my hand anytime you want," I tell him as he grabs my hand. We continue our way to Guitar Center, receiving a few glares and double-takes. As much as I hate the feeling of their prying eyes burning into the back of my head, I honestly do like Alan. And I want to be there for him. I wouldn't say the 'L' word, but I can honestly say I like him. I like him a lot.

Alan lets go of my hand to open the door, but never retrieves it back to hold. My hand feels empty without his occupying the space, but I understand that it's time for him to work. And this is my chance to take a look around at all the guitars. I guess that's why they called the store 'Guitar Center'. 

"I get out at six," Alan tells me and then walks off in a different direction. I guess he wants to be left alone. I don't really want to push it, so I just decide to head off into a different part of the store than he wandered to.

I look at the different guitars, the numerous brands. I mostly eye the Fenders, ESPs, and Deans. They're my favorite.

I find a very particular one that looked nice. It was a Fender, an acoustic one. I didn't know the model, but it sure as hell was nice. I took it off of the rack to play with. 

I sit down on a nearby bench, trying to figure a song I wanted to either play or write. I had so many songs I could choose from. Things from my band (or old band, I should say), Covette, or one of the songs I've written that didn't have a guitar part to go with it. I don't have any ideas in mind for a new song, so I guess I'm going with a Covette song. Might as well play one that Alan knows, in case he makes his way 'round to where I'm at -- where ever that would be.

He only knows one song that I'm aware of, so I guess I know what I'll be playing. 

I begin to play the first few chords, feeling butterflies begin to swarm around in the pit of my stomach. But I want to play, and I will. I will play this song for Alan, whether he hears it or not, I'll fucking play it. 

Shayley, get over your stage fright. 

I begin to sing quietly as if I were just mumbling the lyrics to myself. My voice is barely audible due to the guitar's loudness. 

"Uncertainty is the essence of romance. We close our eyes and contemplate with awe. The winding roads we walk lead us there so play the last song for me," I sing quietly, my voice beginning to slowly rise above the guitar -- but not that much. 

A few people who stopped in over here had begun to crowd around near me, listening to me play. Which really doesn't help my nervousness and anxiety. Particularly, it makes it somewhat worse.

"Cue the kiss so anxious, I want this to last for centuries. Apprehensive bliss ecstatic for this moment. We were eternal. Broken promises to ourselves worth every second, yes every moment," I continue, trying my best to ignore the eyes watching my every move and every pair of ears listening closely. 

"Uncertainty is the essence of romance. We close our eyes and contemplate with awe. The winding roads we walk lead us there so play the last song for me," I hum. I can't help but move my gaze from my fingers moving upon the frets of the guitar to the people, from kids to teenagers to adults, watching me. I noticed some money being thrown at me, landing in a small pile in front of me. I didn't want their money, even if it could be useful for Alan and me, it didn't feel right taking it from these strangers. I appreciate it, but I can't take it. 

"And if I stay in key can I open up, open up your heart. In this moment we are eternal. Hand in hand we are two-step dancing, yeah we're two-step dancing," I vocalize, my voice rising slightly higher in pitch than it had been before. Singing along to the tune of the acoustic guitar is much more different than an electric, but I'm sure it can't be doing that bad. Especially considering that these people seem to truly be enjoying it. 

"Take me higher, take me higher, take me higher," I hymn, my voice silencing after. I took the moment to play a few chords over again, adding in some of my own ideas that weren't in the original song. A few more power chords and I'd be back on my way to finishing the rest of the song.

"And as the distance grows, we are still conjoined through spands of time," I sing, my gaze catching onto the familiar ginger. Alan.

I raise my voice a little bit louder so he can hear me loud and clear. 

Another moment for the power chords to do their job.

"Uncertainty is the essence of romance. We close our eyes and contemplate with awe. The winding roads we walk lead us there so play the last song for me," I belt out, allowing myself to relax and get into the moment. I begin to see Alan walk away in the corner of my eyes, but he's stopped by others coming to join the small crowd that has appeared over time. 

"We were a song that night," I trill, my voice lowering. I was sad that Alan wanted to leave. What did I do?

"We are a song tonight," I quietly finish, my stage fright becoming overwhelming. I can't help but feel my cheeks redden at the fact I had just sung a song that was for Alan. These other people don't know it, or at least I don't think they do. 

I play a few more chords until I strum the final note, and it stays silent. An awkward kind of silent, which is not helping the anxiety and nervousness that I'm feeling.

One man makes his way to the front, a tall lanky man. He had many tattoos covering his arm, his chest, and a few on his neck. He looked intimidating, but he wore a friendly smile on his face. He began applauding, as for what I'd assume my unexpected performance. The rest of the crowd began to slowly clap along with the stranger. He looked nice, but he still would be scary. Especially for anyone with my height or shorter. I wasn't the tallest man in the world, but I certainly wasn't the shortest. I'm only five foot nine, meaning I was the same height as Alan. This man, the one with all of the tattoos, had to be at least six feet tall, if not taller. 

After a few minutes, everyone clears out. Except for me, Alan and the stranger who had begun the applause. 

Alan opens his mouth, but the stranger begins speaking before Alan can get any words out. I can't say it was rude of the man because he wasn't aware Alan was going to speak.

"Hi! I'm Austin," he says, smiling. "You're a great guitarist and singer, dude!" 

"Um... Thanks," I say nervously. Alan rolls his eyes. Is he... Jealous?

"I've heard that song somewhere before, and you sound just like the vocalist from that band," Austin tells me, rambling on about this band. "I think the band was called Corkette or Corvette? Something like that."

"Covette?" I ask dumbfoundedly. Austin laughs.

"Yeah, that's it!" he cheers. "Man, it sucks they broke up. They were rad!"

"I was the vocalist for that band," I say quietly, my anxiety growing higher. Nobody's really said how good of a voice I had, and nobody has ever told me that my band was good. Except for Alan, of course.

"Oh shit, really?!" Austin squeals. Oh God, I'm hoping he's not a fanboy. I really do not like to deal with fanboys or fangirls... I could understand where they're coming from, but it's like.. You don't have to squeal about it in front of their face or comment on their social media or spam them. My opinion is if you're going to fangirl or fanboy, do it either by yourself or with your friends and family. It can get a bit annoying.

"Yeah..." I trail off, my gaze moving from Austin to Alan.

Alan returns the gaze and mouths, "We'll talk later." I look away from him, his face filled with an emotion. I don't know what emotion, I can't tell. He masks himself so well, and I on the other hand.... Not so much.

"So what's your name?" Austin asks me. I look up at him to see a wide toothy grin upon his face. 

"Shayley," I answer, standing up to put the guitar back. 

"Here, let me help you," Austin says, grabbing the guitar from me and putting it back on the rack with ease. It was up a little high, but if I could get it down, I'm quite sure I could've gotten it up.

"I don't need any help," I mutter quietly. As much as I wanted Austin to hear me, at the same time I didn't want to come off rude. Even though I was getting quite fed up with him. I don't need help.

Austin didn't hear me, though.

"So, you guys broke up?" he asks. I nod.

"Yes."

"How? Why? You guys were doing so good!" Austin exclaims. I nearly cringe at the memory.

"I'd rather not talk about it," I tell him, beginning to walk off to another side of the store. I wanted to leave so Austin could get out of my hair, but I didn't know the area well. This isn't Lake Elsinore anymore, although I'm sure I could find my way there. I just wouldn't be able to find my way back. 

"Oh, is it classified?" he asks with emphasis on 'classified'. I shake my head.

"No, it isn't. I just don't want to talk about it," I say.

"Was it mutual or a bad breakup?" he asks.

"I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. It," I tell him once again. "So please, stop asking."

"I'm sorry," he says, his face dropping. "Are you looking for a band?"

"Not really," I answer. "Why?"

"Well, I have a band, but we don't have a guitar player or a clean vocalist," Austin tells me. "And since I saw you here, I was going to ask even if I didn't know you were Covette's guitarist and vocalist."

"Well, I wasn't really looking for a band," I tell him. "What's your band called anyways?"

"Of Mice And Men," he replies. 

"Isn't that a book..? By John Steinbeck?" I ask, remembering that I had read that a few weeks ago in English. 

"Well, yeah," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "It's a long story why we named it that."

"What? You couldn't think of a name?" Alan scoffs. Austin turns around to see the ginger, who looked very upset at the current moment in time. There was something fiery in his eyes. Something more than anger, but it couldn't be jealousy. We aren't even dating. Sure, we kissed, but.. Were we even dating? I'm confused.

"We-"

"So you just copied the book's name?" Alan continues, cutting Austin off. "You can't just copy something because you think it sounds fucking cool. So really, you shouldn't have called your band that because copying something isn't fucking cool. Plagiarism can make you go to jail, y'know." 

"Alan," I say, not in a warning tone, but more of a pleading way. 

"What, Shay?" he mumbles, sadness filling his voice. I sigh, pulling him into a hug.

"We were a song that night," I sing softly into his ear. 

"We are a song tonight," he sings back. I release him, smiling. He also grows a small grin on his face. 

Austin clears his throat, watching dumbfoundedly. Alan looks over at him, sending him a glare. I can't put my finger on exactly what Austin's face is representing, somewhat of an emotionless facade but laced with astonishment. Strange.

"I'll think about the offer," I tell him. Austin nods, walking off, and soon out of the store. I look over at Alan.

"Are you going to accept the offer?" Alan asks. I shrug.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "I can't afford to accept any tours because of school, and really the only reason why I'd do it is so we can get money."

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," Alan says softly. 

"Alright, alright," I begin. Alan grins. 

"You got me," we say together.


	7. Obscene Clarity

I wake up to an alarm noise, something that was surely annoying as hell. I roll over, groaning, but instead of placing my arm on the sheets, it lands on another human being. My eyes flicker open to see the familiar little redhead.

"Alco, we gotta wake up," I mumble, my voice being barely understandable.

"Why?" he groans, rolling over to face me.

"It's Monday," I answer. "School."

"Can't I just skip today?" he asks, giving me a pouty face. I sigh.

"We skip today, and then we go back tomorrow," I tell him. "Deal?"

"Fine," Alan mutters, throwing his hand onto the alarm clock. "But now I can't go back to sleep."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because once I wake up, I can't go to sleep," he replies. "I don't know why I just can't."

"It's seven in the morning," I say. "What are we gonna do today?"

Alan looks into my eyes, smirking.

"I have an idea..." he trails off, moving on top of me so that he's straddling me.

"You are one horny boy, you know that?" I tell him. Alan's smirk only grows wider.

"I have a case of morning wood," Alan says nonchalantly.

"That's wonderful," I state. "I have a case of 'I have to pee'."

"Oh, ew! Gross!" Alan screeches, dragging out the 'O' in gross. He immediately gets off of me. "Go pee."

"Will gladly do," I respond, heading out to the bathroom to do my business.

"Don't take too long!" I hear Alan shout from the bedroom. I roll my eyes as I wash my hands.

"Calm your tits!" I holler back, leaving the bathroom. I hear a thud, shaking the wooden floorboards. I open the bedroom door to witness a hysterically laughing Alan who appears to be rolling around on the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, laughing at the sight. I close the door behind me, walking to stand before the hyena Alan.

"I was waiting for you to come back," he answers

*insert a phone ringtone here*

"Is that your phone?" I breathe, my face buried in his neck.

"Unfortunately, yes," Alan responds.

"Ignore it," I say quietly, beginning to kiss his neck again.

"Shay..." he mumbles in a warning tone.

"What?" I ask innocently, nipping gently at his neck.

"M-My pho- Ugh," Alan replies, being cut off by his own moan. 

"Here is your phone," I say, handing over the paper-thin device.

"You dickhead," he mutters, unlocking the phone. "And you're right, I should've ignored this."

"Who's it from?" I ask as I plop down onto the bed, regretting it immediately. I shouldn't be so nosy.

"Nobody important," Alan answers, moving so that he is straddling me. "Now can we just get back to kissing?"

Instead of replying to Alan, I press my lips to his. 

"I really really like you," he whispers, breaking the kiss for a mere moment before pressing his lips once again to mine. He licks my lips, and gently tugs on my hair.

"F-Fuck," I gasp, giving Alan the chance to slip his tongue into my mouth. I still am not used to the idea of tongue kissing, and damn do I wish he'd stop doing that. 

I ruffle my hands through Alan's shaggy ginger hair, as our kiss becomes more and more passionate and intense. Alan breaks our kiss, moving his head to my neck, nibbling it slightly before beginning to suck on it.

"Oh-" I groan, as he's found my sweet spot.

Alan lifts his head away from my neck, looking at me with a devious smirk on his face.

"Let's get this shirt off of you," Alan suggests, fiddling around with the hem of my shirt. He begins to lift it up, and I pull it the rest of the way off. Alan grins, leaning down. He begins to make butterfly kisses along my chest, stopping when he arrives at my lower waist. He looks up at me.

"Not... Not yet," I say. 

"I understand," he says, smiling as he pecks my lips. I turn my head, dodging the affection. 

"Excuse me, why can't I kiss you?" he asks. I roll my eyes.

"Fine, kiss me again, Princess," I mumble, brushing my lips against his. Alan immediately kisses back. 

Alan smiles into the kiss, continuing to grind his hips against mine. I break the kiss before it gets too intimate, looking at him. He arches his eyebrow.

"I'm hungry," I say. Alan bursts out laughing. "What?"

"God, Shay, I fucking love you," Alan says, wrapping his arms around me.

Does Alan really love me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there used to be more but it was smut and I don't necessarily want that to be in this book anymore so I ditched it. If I could've, I would've botched the entire chapter.


	8. Lonely, Won't You Hold Me?

I haven't seen Alan since this morning, and I was getting afraid. After he told me he loved me, he ran away. I don't know where to, and I didn't have a phone to contact him with. Not that would've mattered anyway, he left his phone here in the apartment.

I slide down against the wall I had been leaning against, burying my head in my hands. I'm so worried about Alan, I couldn't even describe the horrible feeling. I felt upset, sad, and most of all, I was worried.

"What have I fucking done?" I sob, pulling on my shaggy hair. I sit here, and I don't move. I can't move, and I don't want to. I am truly freaking out right now.

I stay there for a few moments before getting off of the floor, heading into the kitchen, I open the fridge, looking for the infamous killing substance known as alcohol.

I spot a large bottle of vodka - which was half-empty - and grab it. I take a swig of it and gulp it down quickly. It burns my throat, but I don't care. I want to forget about this, I need to stop stressing so much.

All I've done since I was left out on my own was fucking stress. I stressed about finding shelter, I stressed about Alan, I stressed about my sexuality, I've even stressed about when Alan and I woke up naked in the bathtub. I don't even know if we fucked or not. We didn't even get fucking drunk! How the hell would we have had sex and not remember it?

I didn't really understand Alan all too much, and it confused me the things that he did. I didn't understand the things he said, the things he did. He was confusing, and I wanted to forget about it. I wanted to forget every fucking thing. I take another swig.

I head into 'our' room and dig around in my backpack -- which I had yet to unpack. I find the pack of cigarettes and take the pack. I fiddle around for my lighters and grab it. When- If - Alan ever comes back, I don't want him to blame himself. I want him to blame himself for nothing. I can't let him think this is his fault; I'm not that terrible of a person.

I hope.

I head down the hall with my lighters and cigarettes and open the door to the fire escape. I crawl into the small area and close the door. I think I'd just stay here. For a while at least.

I open my pack of cigarettes and take one out. I place it between my lips and flick on my lighter, lighting the cigarette. I hadn't smoked since I was fifteen, but right now, I really just needed one. I needed a smoke. I needed something to distract my mind from my fucking horrible reality.

"Shayley?" a voice peeps from the doorway. I turn my head, looking at the familiar ginger peering. His head was between the door and the brick wall.

"What?" I mumble, turning away. I pull the cigarette away from my lips, blowing out the smoke.

"I'm so-"

"Save it," I say, cutting him off. "I don't want to talk to you right now." Alan signs before closing the door, leaving me by myself.

I didn't know why I got pissed off; I shouldn't have. Alan didn't do anything, and hell he could've gotten killed out there. I should be happy he came home, I shouldn't be angry at him. What the hell is fucking wrong with me?

I get up from the shaky, metal platform. I step towards the door, hearing squeaks. The platform begins to wobble, and I start freaking out. I open the door, and the platform collapses.

"Alan!" I scream, nearly falling down to my death. Alan's apartment was on the fourth floor out of five. I was hanging for fucking dear life at the doorstep.

Alan comes running down the hall and sees me dangling, and gasps, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Oh my God, Shayley," he whispers in astonishment.

"Alan, help me, I'm fucking going to die!" I shout, starting to lose my grip. I wasn't the strongest person in the world, and I think that was obvious. "RIght now is not the fucking time to realise that I'm going to fucking fall to my death!"

"I'm sorry, okay!" he replies, grabbing the doorway. He reaches his hand out for me to grab.

"I'm sorry for being a dick," I say, trying to pull myself up high enough to grab his hand.

"Right now isn't the time to apologise, Shay," he says, his voice timid. Alan tries to reach farther down, but it isn't enough.

"Alan," I mumble. I'm freaking out terribly right now, and I can feel the salty tears rolling down my face. I'm seventeen, this isn't the time to die. This isn't my time, I can't die! I can not fucking die!!

I reach out farther, and I grab Alan's hand. Alan pulls me up as best as he can (which neither of us were all too strong) as I try to use the holes in the bricks to let myself up.

I make it into the doorway, and Alan quickly shuts the door. I'm breathing heavily, and I can barely get enough oxygen into me.

"Shayley, are you alright?" Alan asks. I'm still in shock of the fact that I was about to die. I was about to die. Die. I was about to fucking die!

"J-Just hold me," I breathe. Alan crawls over to me and wraps his arms around my waist.

"It's okay," Alan whispers. "You're okay."

"I was g-going t-to die," I sob, burying my face into his chest. "I'm going t-to d-d-die."

Today is not a good day.


	9. I Feel Alive Again

It had been a few hours, and I've somewhat calmed down. I was still shaky, still scared. I was afraid of moving, and I had a fear that anytime now would the apartment collapse down and kill us all.

"Shayley?" I look up at the bedroom's door, seeing Alan standing there with a concerned expression on his face.

"Hi," I squeak out. May I mention I've also spent these past few hours bawling my eyes out?

"How are you doing?" he asks quietly, making his way over to me. I was sitting on the bed, staring out the window that was right behind it. I'd been lost in thought, and that wasn't ever a good thing for me.

But really, is that ever a good thing for anybody?

"I've been better," I say honestly, wiping stray tears from my cheeks with the sleeves of my crewneck.

"I'm sorry," Alan repeats for about the fiftieth time today. He climbs onto the bed and wraps his arms around me.

"You don't have to apologize," I whisper, hugging him back. I rest my head on his shoulder, trying to hold back the stupid useless tears.

I never understood the point of crying. Sure, it's a part of emotions and shit, but why do we cry when we're sad? Why do we cry when we're mad or upset? Why do we cry when we're hurt? What's the point of crying? All it does is make you look weak to others, and take the wear and tear out of you. It consumes energy, and I just don't get it.

"You wouldn't have to wake, cause I'll learn from my mistakes," Alan sings softly into my ear. "Cause I love you, yes I love you." I lift my head and look at him.

"You read my book," I say.

"I'm sorry," he says, once a-fucking-gain.

"Stop apologizing, Alco," I tell him. "There is no reason to apologize. I'm not mad."

"I shouldn't have read your book though," he argues. "I never meant to hurt you and I'm so so sorry."

"You really like that song, don't you?" I ask.

"Yes, I love it," Alan giggles. "Like I love you."

"That was so cheesy," I laugh.

"Can't deny the truth," he shrugs. I stick my tongue out at him.

"Wow, rude much?" Alan scoffs, snapping his fingers in a Z formation.

"Wow, hipster much?" I mock, flipping my hair.

"Wow," Alan bursts out laughing. "Silly Shay-Shay!"

"Shay-Shay?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes," he says, smiling. "Now kiss me."

I don't deny, as I place my hands on his hips and press my lips to his.

It's honestly amazing how someone could affect my life so much. Just a few hours ago, I was angry, and then I was afraid, and now I feel like I'm on Cloud Nine. Alan causes me so many mood swings, but sometimes it's for the better. If I hadn't had gone to Starbucks a few weeks ago, I still would've been on the streets getting robbed and gang-ra.ped or dead. I'm glad that I met Alan because he gave me a home. He gave me hope, he gave me love. He taught me things, and some things that I learned from him are that even in the bad things in life, you can still find good things. There's a good for every bad. If I hadn't had been kicked out of my parents home, I still would've been a coward in my room, hiding from my son-of-a-bitch father, or being the awkward anti-social emo kid in the back of the classroom.

I don't want to be that weird kid, and I don't want to be the kid that takes everything as it is. No, Alan's taught me that there's a need for change, and sometimes it's far better than for worse.

"I love you," I whisper, breaking the kiss. I've never told Alan I loved him, even though he's said it to me. I wasn't ready to say it, and hell, I didn't even know if I loved him or not. But I know now that I do love him. I love Alan, and I love the things he does, and the way that he can make me happier than anyone else on the planet in just a simple kiss.

"I love you too, Shayley," Alan whispers back, planting his lips back to mine. But this kiss wasn't just a normal kiss, it was a kiss full of passion, lust, and love.

Alan breaks off the kiss and smiles. He lays down on the bed, taking me with him. He positions himself to look at me with his honey golden eyes.

"I love you with all of my heart," he says softly, cuddling closer to me. "I love you so damn much, and thank you, just thank you for coming into my life."

"You're the one who barged into mine first," I chuckle, tangling my legs with his.

"Well I'm happy that I did," he replies, burying his head into my chest. "Because you make me happy."

"Awe, is Alleypoo being sappy!" I coo, kissing the top of his head.

"Never call me that ever again," Alan mumbled.

"Oh, why? What's wrong with Alleypoo?" I ask, grinning. "I think it's adorable!"

"Alleypoo sounds like an alleyway full of shit," he says, pouting.

"Shay-Shay doesn't sound better," I say.

"Shay-Shay is hot," he smirks. "In both ways."

"How smooth," I say sarcastically.

"But you love it."

"More like you," I say, rolling out of the bed. "I am hungry."

"Why does your hunger always ruin the moment?" Alan asks, following me out of the room and into the kitchen. I shrug.

"Dunno," I say, opening the fridge. Alan sits down at the breakfast bar and watches me.

"Do you want me to get you some Breakfast For Dinner?" Alan offers.

"Sure," I say.

"I'll call Aaron to see if he's up for making some," he says, taking his cell phone off of the counter. 

"I thought you were a mastermind cook?" I ask, chuckling. I plop down in the chair next to him.

"I am, but I'm a lazy fuck," he laughs. "I'm putting him on speaker, don't be a little shit."

"Wow," I gasp, placing my hand on my chest.

"I'm kidding," he murmurs.

"And so was I," I smirk. "Let's call this dude."

Alan hits the 'call' button, and Aaron picks up within the first few rings.

"Al?" the voice on the phone says.

"Pauley, I want Breakfast For Dinner," Alan requests.

"So demanding," Aaron scoffs. "On my way, but I'm bringing a friend if you don't mind."

"Yeah sure," Alan mumble. "And I got news for you too!"

"Good or bad?" Aaron asks.

"Good, bitch!" Alan shouts ecstatically. I wince at the loudness.

"Rude," Aaron says. "Anyways, go on."

"SHAYLEY SAY HI!" Alan beams. I chuckle at him.

"Hey," I say, following Alan's request.

"Alan, who the hell is Shayley?" Aaron mumbles. I hear a car engine ignite in the background, along with car doors closing.

"Shayley is my..." Alan trails off looking at me.

"Boyfriend," I finished for Alan, smiling at him. Alan looks back at the phone.

"You have a boyfriend?!" Aaron shouts in both amusement and surprise. Alan's gaze turns back to mind.

"I hope," I mouth to Alan. He smiles, nodding.

"YOU BET YOUR ASS I DO!" Alan screams excitedly.

"Al, we're at the door. Open up," Aaron says and hangs up.

Alan gets up, and quickly runs over to the door, opening it up. I see an average sized guy walk in first. He had chubby cheeks, swoopy brown hair, and chocolate brown eyes. He seemed friendly.

Behind Chubby Cheeks was a lanky brunette, who had many tattoos and I instantly recognized him to be the guy from Guitar Center. Austin, I think was his name. That means that Chubby Cheeks must be Aaron.

"Aaron, can I have a word with you, in private?" Alan asks. Aaron nods and they both disappear from the room. Silence fills the room, and the Austin guy walks over to me.

"Shayley, nice seeing you again," Austin smiles, sitting down next to me in Alan's seat.

"Hi," I say awkwardly.

"Break up," Austin says sternly.

"What?" I stammer. This guy was so nice, but now he seems rude. What the hell?

"Break up," he repeats, anger filling his eyes. "You and Alan, break up."

"No way," I deny immediately. "Why should I?!"

"Break up or I'll break you," he says. "Simple as that, I'll break your neck and he'll come running back."

"What do you mean?!" I ask, horror filling my eyes.

"I love Alan, he loves me, you're nothing but someone in between," he chimes, smiling. I furrow my eyebrows. Why is he singing? Singing?!

"Alan told me this morning he loves me?!"

"Alan's a liar, he loves me, break up or soon to be on fire," Austin hymns, the smile on his face growing wider, while my eyes grow wider.

"The longer you date, the more you'll have to look out. The longer you wait, the more you'll be in pain, scout," he laughs.

The door to the apartment opens, Aaron and Alan walking inside.

"Austin, get the fuck out," Alan hisses toward Austin.

"Oh, but why, Ginger Princess?" Austin grins, moving away from me.

"Austin, just please go," Aaron says.

"You brought me here, so no," Austin tells him, and moves his attention toward Alan.

"Get away from him!" I shout, running toward Alan. "He doesn't want you here so go!"

"Ah, I'll leave since your little boy toy told me so," Austin laughs. "Just remember Shayley, I'll be watching you."

"What the hell?" Alan whispers, looking at me with wide eyes. I brush aside the question and watch Austin leave with a slam of the door.

"I'm sorry, Alan, I didn't know," Aaron apologizes, looking at my boyfriend.

"It's fine," Alan mumbles. "I just want my Breakfast For Dinner."


	10. Hand in Hand

Aaron had made Breakfast For Dinner for us three and finished a few minutes ago. We all sat in silence at the makeshift dining table eating at the delicious entities. Pancakes, waffles, omelets, bacon, ham, you name it. It was here, on each of our plates with whatever breakfast concoction we created. Aaron cooked pretty damn well, honestly.

"Shayley?" Aaron asks. I look up from my plate, the fork full of syrup covered pancakes in mid-air.

"Yeah?" I say quietly, before shoving the pancake into my mouth. It was seriously the best thing I had ever tasted, and I'd have to thank Aaron for that later. Alan wasn't lying when he said Aaron was a great cook.

"What did Austin mean when he said 'I'm watching you' exactly?" he asks cautiously, taking a piece of bacon off the plate and taking a small bite out of it. I finish chewing my pancake and swallow it before replying.

"He wants to kill me," I say, but my voice doesn't come any louder than a small whisper. I was scared for my life, honestly. I was scared for Alan's too. I didn't know that Alan knew this Austin guy, aside from the one incident in Guitar Center, it seemed like Austin was just a regular customer. Is that why Alan was so smug when I first met Austin? What happened between them?

"What?! Why?!" Alan shouted, spitting out a mouthful of waffles and sausage.

"Because he says he loves you and not me," I whisper, looking away from the two and staring at my plate. I begin to pick at my food with my fork. I lost my apatite just by the single thought that Alan was lying to me, and that he did love Austin and not me. Alan didn't seem like the type of guy to backstab you and rip your heart out when you're at your weakest point.

But you can't judge a book by its cover. You don't know it's going to happen unless you know it's been constant in past relationships. I don't know really anything about Alan's past.

Now that I think about it, I don't really know much about Alan at all. I know he plays guitar and piano, he writes songs, he's an alcoholic who lost his Aunt, kicked out of his parent's house (for a reason that is unknown to me), and that he works at Guitar Center. Last of all, that he has some psycho ex-boyfriend who wants to kill me just because I'm dating Alan. Well, fuck my life, then.

"Shay, are you listening?" Alan mumbles, waving his head in front of my eyes. I softly shake my head, snapping back into reality.

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "I spaced out."

"I noticed," he giggles. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I mumble. I didn't want to worry Alan. There was no need to drop my problems on his shoulders. They're fine right where they are. On me.

"You're lying," Aaron says in a serious tone.

"I'm not," I protest, taking a forkful of pancakes. "I'm just... Afraid."

"You're thinking about Austin's plot to kill you, aren't you?" he suggests. I nod.

"How'd you know?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.

"Knowing Mr. Shove-All-Food-I-See here," he pauses, to send a glare to Alan as Alan continues to stuff his face, "for many years. Since what, seventh grade?"

"Sixth, dumbass," Alan replied with a mouthful of food. Aaron and I cringe at the sight.

"Swallow it first dammit!" Aaron and I both yell at the same time.

"You guys are no fun," Alan whined, after finishing chewing and swallowing the food.

"Oh please, you know that I'm fun," I say, winking.

"I do not need to hear your sex life while I am eating, thank you," Aaron chimes. Alan and I burst out laughing.

"Why not? It's very interesting," Alan asks, bursting into more giggles.

"No," Aaron grumbles, getting up to put his empty plate in the sink. "But I've got to run. Frankie and John said they want me to cook food for them too."

"Who's Frankie and John?" I ask.

"Buddies from school. They've got a band with some other dude, too. Can't remember his name, but I think it's Timothy or something like that," Aaron says.

"Buddies is such a weird word," Alan says.

"What band?" I ask, brushing aside Alan's comment. We can talk about that later. I'm all for bands.

"A band called Chapters," Aaron answers. "They're missing a vocalist and guitarist. Oh, and they sound similar to that Corvette band that was at our school too."

"It's Covette," I say. "And I was the guitarist and vocalist for that band."

"Oh shit man, seriously!?" Aaron squeals. Please tell me he's not a fangirl....

"Yeah," I chuckle. "I guess that means I go to your school."

"You gotta meet Frankie and John sometime soon, then! They'd fucking love you!" Aaron suggests. I shrug.

"Sure, why not?" I grin.

"Cool. I'll text Alan the details later. Gotta go, Frankie's shouting at me about his damn pancakes," Aaron says, waving bye and heading out the door.

"So now it's us," Alan remarks, a grin growing wide on his face.

"Indeed," I respond. "And I haven't finished my pancakes."

"You're such a slow eater," Alan complains as he piles more numerous foods onto his plate.

"I didn't make a mess," I state, pointing towards his shirt, which will inevitably have grease stains from the sausage and bacon, and the table. Don't get me started on the table.

"I can clean it up," he mutters, getting up to retrieve a napkin. Or a stack of them.

"Don't use all the napkins, I mean, damn," I say, taking another bite of pancakes. I couldn't get enough of these things. They're better than the waffles, and the rest of the meats and omelets.

As Alan bends over to wipe down the floor, I get an astonishing view of his ass.

"Stop staring at me," Alan whines, standing up.

"But your ass is a beautiful sight," I protest.

"That's nice how my ass is all fine and dandy, but I think you're just picturing yourself pounding into it," he says. My face grows into a deep red.

"A boy can't have his fantasies?" I mutter, eating the last bit of food on the plate before getting up to put it in the sink with Aaron's plate.

"Of course he can," Alan replies. "Doesn't mean he'll get to act on them!"

"Tease," I say.


	11. What Fear Really Seeks

I open my eyes, immediately being blinded by the light. I close them, groaning as I roll over to find the other side of the bed empty. I open my eyes once again to see that Alan isn't there. Where'd he run off to this time?

I get out of bed, throwing a pair of boxers on. I head out of the bedroom and begin to head down to the living room. I hear the sound of vomiting from the bathroom. I furrow my eyebrows.

Is Alan sick?

"Alan?" I call, fast-walking to the opposite end of the hall to find the bathroom door wide open. Alan was leaning against the toilet.

"Hi," he says weakly, trying to get up before immediately leaning back down and vomiting violently into the toilet.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" I ask, sitting down next to him. I rub his back as he empties out his stomach's contents.

"I feel sick," he grumbles, clutching his stomach.

"I think that's a bit obvious," I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "Is there anything specific?"

"I feel cramps in my stomach, I'm tired as fuck, and I really fucking want some pizza," Alan replies. "My back is killing me, too."

"Do you want me to take you to the doctor's?" I ask.

"No, I-I'm fine," he says. "We don't have the money for that anyway."

"Alan, this is serious," I say.

"I-I'm fine, Shayley," he protests.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm sure. I don't feel like puking my guts out anymore."

"That's good," I say, slowly lifting us up from the floor. "Are you hungry?"

"Pizza, please," he answers, walking towards the room. "Where are my boxers?"

"Umm..." I trail off as I follow Alan into the room. "They're somewhere around the bed."

"Oh, here they are," he says, putting them on. I hadn't even noticed that he was walking around with a bare butt. 

"I'm gonna go to the store," Alan says, going to the closet. He grabs a pair of ripped up skinny jeans and a sleeveless Pink Floyd shirt. "Anything you need?"

"No, I'm good," I say as he changes into his clothes. He grabs his phone and shoves in his pocket. 

"I love you," I tell him, pecking his lips.

"Love you too," he grins. "I'll be back later."

"Okay," I chuckle, watching him exit the door.

I plop down on the couch, picking up a pencil and notebook from the coffee table.

Might as well use this time to write a song.

\--

"I'M HOME!" Alan shouts as he opens the door to our apartment quickly.

"I see that," I laugh.

"AND I GOTTA PISS!" he yells, taking the smallest bag he had with him as he runs off down the hall to the bathroom.

"HAVE FUN WITH THAT!" I holler back, laughing.

"SHUT UP, BOURGET!"

"MAKE ME!"

"IN A MINUTE, LET ME PISS, DAMN!" I burst out laughing.

"OKAY, OKAY. YOU GOT ME!" I laugh, returning to the TV show I was watching.

Minutes later, Alan returns and plops down on the couch next to me.

"Shayley...?" Alan whispers. I look over at him, and I immediately grow concerned.

"What's wrong?" I question him, my face dropping.

"I stopped by the doctor's..." he trails off, looking down at the ground as he fiddles around with his fingers. "And they did some tests."

"What were the results?" I ask cautiously.

"I.. um..." he whispers, unable to finish his sentence. He hands me a paper with documentation on it.

Alan Anthony Ashby has been diagnosed with chronic osmosymbiosis syndrome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah,, chronic osmosymbiosis syndrome isn't a thing that exists by the way.


	12. Just Stay A While

The words kept circling around in my head. Alan had osmosymbiosis. 

"Are you... Going to be okay? You're not... You won't die... Right?" I ask slowly, trying to process everything. Alan has chronic osmosymbiosis syndrome.

"I don't know," Alan whispers in response. I open my arms and pull him into a hug.

"Please don't leave me," I whimper, burying my head into his chest.

"I won't," he says softly. "I'm gonna fight this tooth and nail."

"I love you," I mewls, tears running down my cheeks. He pulls away from me and looks at the coffee table, his gaze flickering from the ground to the notebook. I had written a song earlier, and I was proud of it.

"What's this?" he asks, picking up the notebook. He skims over the lyrics, trying not to cry.

"Here in this world, I'm awaked with mistakes. But its love that keeps fueling me," I sing to Alan, as tears run slowly from his eyes. "Pretty little lady, with the swollen eyes, won't you show them to me?"

"I know I'm not that perfect, but just stay awhile baby, then you will see," I continue, my eyes beginning to water. "Miles away I can still feel you lay your head down on my embrace. My embrace, far away..."

"Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes, won't you show them to me?" I sing, pulling Alan into a tight hug. I was sobbing by this point. "I know I'm not that perfect, just stay awhile, baby, then you will see."

"Don't give up, baby, I know that it's shaky. Just let love consume us, consume us..." I trail off, Alan returning the hug. "Here in this world, I'm awaked with mistakes. But it's love that keeps fueling me, fueling me to love you. "

"Miles away, I can still feel you lay your head down on my embrace," I hymn, pressing my lips to Alan's forehead. "Be not afraid to love me."

"Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes, won't you show them to me? I know I'm not that perfect, but you stay awhile, baby then you will see," I finish, closing my eyes. I continue to hum, and I notice that Alan has fallen asleep.

"I love you, and I'll never leave you," I whisper as I pick him up and carry him to the bed.


	13. Edge of the World

There was no doubt that I loved Alan, and I realized that the day he told me he was sick with chronic osmosymbiosis syndrome - which was yesterday. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that he could just... Die. He could just... Drop dead. 

And I'm only seventeen years old. Alan's only sixteen. We're teenagers! How on Earth are we supposed to handle this? I can't... I can't really handle anything, and... I just... Alan could die and he hasn't even lived life to the fullest! He's... He's not even an adult... He hasn't reached that point and he might not be able to... And just... That's a scary thought. I could lose him, and that's scary too. 

I look over at Alan, seeing him still peacefully asleep. It was around three in the morning, and I hadn't slept all night. And we have to go to school tomorrow -- or today I should say. It's going to be even more horrendous than the hell it is already. But yet again, it's my fault I hadn't slept. It's my fault I'm still not asleep. I just can't keep my own damn mind quiet for more than two damn seconds.

Alan has osmosymbiosis.

Was Alan faking this, though? Osmosymbiosis was something I haven't heard of, and Alan said before that he hadn't known about it either. But Alan didn't seem like the type to do that kind of thing. Nobody I knew seemed to be a douche. But yet again, that's what I thought about Raul, Jordan, and Sebastian, and they kicked me out of my own band. 

I need to stop overthinking these things.

I quietly got out of bed, shuffling on a pair of pajama bottoms before heading out to the kitchen. I wasn't hungry, but maybe a midnight - or more like three A.M. - snack will help me sleep. Doubtful, though. 

I quietly - as in as quietly as I can - open the fridge, grabbing a beer. I shouldn't be drinking myself to sleep but it's the only idea I've come up with. This anxiety is overwhelming. Alan is sick with osmosymbiosis, Austin is plotting to fucking murder me, shall I go on? 

I pop the cap easily using my teeth and take a swig of it before placing it down on the counter. 

I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist, and instantly I wondered why Alan would be awake. Had I been so loud?

"Alan, go back to sleep, I'm just getting something to calm my nerves," I whisper quietly.

"Oh, well, I thought my company could calm your nerves better than that, babe," he says huskily. My eyes widen. That isn't Alan. It's...

"Austin," I finish the thought aloud. My voice sounded strangely calm.

"I told you that I'd be back," he says, his breath tickling my neck. I feel goosebumps on my arms. It had gotten strangely cold.

"I didn't doubt you the first time you said it," I tell him. 

"That's very good," Austin replies, smirking. "Then you should believe me when I say to you that you're all alone."

He quoted my band. He fucking quoted my own band!

"Wha-" I begin to say, but I'm cut off with a scream. A blood-curdling scream. My own horrific scream.

"Now now, we don't want to wake up Alan, do we?" he grins, pulling the knife out of my back. I can't make a sound, I can't move, I can just do whatever Austin manipulates me to do. This pain is unbearable.

"Answer me!" Austin yells in a demanding tone, making a slash through the skin on my arms. I had felt that pain before, but never something so deep.

"N-No," I stammer out, following his demands so I don't get myself killed.

"Good, now shut up you piece of shit!" he hisses, creating, even more, holes in me to bleed. It's like I were a rock, and Austin is simply carving a drawing into me. The poison hurts, it feels so empty.

Austin pulls out one of the trash bags from the cub board. I want to make a scene, I want help but I don't have the energy to move. I don't have the energy to do anything, and I can slowly feel myself slipping away.

But I don't want to die today.

I look beside me, seeing the puddle of blood that Austin had made me create. This just makes me wonder. What had Alan and Austin done together that made Austin so clingy? Was Austin some evil ex-boyfriend that was going out of his way to kill me?

Austin opened the bag and basically shoved me in it. I couldn't put up a fight. I didn't have the energy too, not enough willpower. I was on the edge of the world. And what I didn't expect was to see Alan here.

They're just illusions. They're not real.

The thoughts keep repeating throughout my mind as I see through his star-colored eyes. We're going through this together. Together.

I feel my eyelids get heavy, trying to pull me down further into the darkness. I gathered energy to scream out the words that had been buzzing in my mind, as the darkness takes over.

How far would you go for me, Alan?!


	14. Blurry Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is in alan's point of view

I had woken up from the annoying alarm on my phone. Apple should seriously get some new ring-tones. These suck.

Quickly, I slide my finger, entering my lame-ass passcode (totally isn't Shayley's birthday) and dismiss the alarm. Maybe I should buy a stupid fucking normal alarm clock -- at least that has a radio to use for an alarm. Of course, if worse comes to worse, then there's the beep that they make. 

Ew.

I roll over to the other side of the bed, finding it cold and empty. Where is Shayley? Certainly, he should be here. I mean, where else would he go?

Maybe he's in the bathroom or the kitchen. 

I fling the blanket over me and swing my legs to the side, getting off of the messy unmade bed. I waddle out of the room, walking down the hall and I immediately stop in my tracks. 

"Oh my God..." I trail off, my phone falling out of my hand and onto the floor. My hands fly up to cover my mouth, a muffled scream leaving it at the same time. There was a puddle of crimson red blood between the kitchen and living room. It wasn't dried yet. Whatever had happened couldn't have happened too long ago. It was around five o'clock in the morning. 

I take baby steps toward the puddle, my mind buzzing with more and more thoughts every second. What if Shayley killed himself? What if he cut himself? Did he cut too deep and drive himself to the hospital? Was he at the hospital? Is he okay? Where is Shayley?

My eyes flicker around, searching for any clues left in the apartment that could give me answers -- or at least lead me closer to one. 

But there was no such luck.

I look down, staring at the blood's reflection. There were so many possibilities of what could've happened. Did Shayley leave me? Was I not good enough for him? Why would he have left? His things were still here. He didn't have anywhere to go. What could I have done that made him want to leave me and his home?

I shake my head, snapping out of my thoughts and back into reality. I need to get ready for school. Otherwise known as hell.

Boy, do I hate my life.

I trudge back to my room, sloppily shoving my notebooks into my plain old black Jansport backpack. I throw on a red-striped sweater along with some black skinny jeans -- one's that didn't have any holes in the knees. I was ready for hell. Besides, how worse could this day get?

\--

"Alan."

Ignoring you.

"Alan!"

Still ignoring you.

"Alan!!"

No, still ignoring you.

"ALAN FUCKING ASHBY!"

"What?!" I snap, sending a glare to whoever was calling my name. I look over and see the familiar brunette. Immediately, my face softens. "Shit, I'm sorry Skye."

"Look in at my eyes," she commands. I do as she says. I really was not in the mood to either be fucked with or to get into an argument with someone. I just do not have the motivation, nor the energy. 

Aren't I such a drag?

"Have you been sleeping?" she asks, concern lacing her face. I shake my head, returning my gaze back to my paper. It was fourth-period art. Four classes to go and I'm out of this shithole for the day.

"No," I answer, continuing to doodle on the page. It wasn't what we were supposed to be doing, but I just don't have the impulse to do anything except lay around being a lazy depressed fucktard who can't do a single thing right. 

Why else would Shayley leave?

"What're you mumbling about?" Skye asks, sketching a picture of a couple standing in the rain. 

"Nothing," I say, scribbling more onto the paper.

"Who's that?" she questions, eyeing my paper carefully. I look down at the paper to realize that I've been drawing Shayley the entire time. 

"Nobody," I answer quickly, wanting to avoid the questions and basically that conversation entirely. I don't want to talk about Shayley. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week, never. I can't handle the amount of emotion that I'd receive by just realizing that he's gone. He wasn't even at school today. I don't know where he is. I miss him.

"That doesn't look like nobody," she says, her voice getting quieter.

"It's nobody," I say firmly, although it wasn't so firm. I sounded weak, I sounded broken and lost. I sounded like I was depressed, and that isn't what I wanted to show. I don't want to show that I'm weak, broken or lost. I don't want to drop off all my problems onto other people.

Maybe that's why Shayley left. Maybe I left all my problems on top of his shoulders. Maybe I was overwhelming. Maybe I was difficult. Maybe I was-

"You're crying, Alan," she whispers, cutting me off from my gloomy thoughts.

"No I'm not," I say, trying to make it seem like I wasn't being weak, but it was useless. I was close to bursting out into full-blown sobs. That is not something that should ever happen in an art class. Never in any class. Never at school in general. Crying is an action that shouldn't happen in public. You'll be stared down, given glares and stares. You'll be the laughing stock of the century, or maybe you'll just be the weird-ass emo kid. 

"Shayley?" she asks, and I notice that I had written his name numerous times around the drawing of him. "Who's that?" She furrows her eyebrows, concerned, with worries lacing her face.

"No one," I state, trying to move away from the subject. Skye looks at me warily.

"Is that Shayley Bourget?" she asks quietly, her face dropping. She looked sad, but not a depressing type of sad. It was more of a mournful sad, but I don't know why she'd be mourning over Shayley. Or am I just missing something?

"Yes," I answer softly. 

"I'm so sorry, Alan," she whispers, pulling me into a hug. Tears start to seep out of my eyes, quickly yet silent. I was never a loud crier, but that didn't mean that I wanted to cry. I never want to cry, especially at school. That was the worst place to have a mental breakdown.

But that's exactly what was happening right now. I am going absolutely fucking insane.

"Skye?" I say faintly, fiddling around with my fingers. The tears were still running down my cheeks, but I honestly didn't have enough energy to care.

"Yeah?" she whispers in response. She releases me from the hug, and she looks at me. I stare down at the floor, tugging down on my sleeves.

"Why'd he leave?" I ask, wiping my cheeks with my sleeve. "Why'd he go? What did I do?"

"Alan..." she trails off, looking at the floor. 

"What?" I say, my curiosity getting the better of me. She had a warning tone in her voice, and I know that I'm about to be told something horrible. The fact that I'm just asking for this horrific news is worse.

"Shayley is dead."


	15. Screaming For The Final Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is in austin's point of view

I smirk, looking down at the putrid brunette laying on the floor in his own puddle of crimson blood. Such a pathetic excuse for a man. Alan could've done such a better job than pick this scrub. But of course, nobody will ever be better than me.

"You're such a fucking worthless excuse of a human being," I spit at him, kicking his side. He groans, pain showing through his face. I feel absolutely no pity.

"N-No," he weakly says, trying to pry himself off of the floor. I pick my foot up, slamming it down on his back, forcing him back down to the cement.

"You don't get to call the fucking shots here," I hiss, leaning down. I pull him up by his hair, forcing him to face me. He starts coughing, blood sputtering from his lips. I chuckle.

"You think it's funny?" he laughs weakly, coughing a bit more. "You think it's funny to sit there and watch me die?"

"My intent is not to kill you, Bourget," I say, snickering at his thoughts. "I'm not letting you off easily, darlin'. I'm here to torture you until you can understand to get the fuck away from my Alan."

"I'm not here to stay in your prison," he says. "You keep talking about getting him back when he doesn't want you, so just move the fuck on!"

"You shut your fucking mouth!" I yell, grabbing the boy by his neck, slamming him against the nearby wall. "You shut your fucking mouth or I will not hesitate to fucking murder you!"

"Thought you said you weren't here to kill me," he grins. "Liar."

I stay silent, gritting my teeth. One more word out of this fucking imbecile, and I'll end up killing him. There's no fun in that.

"Imbecile," I breathe, taking deep breaths to attempt to keep myself from murdering the child. "The more you smile, you still remain an imbecile!"

Shayley stays quiet, his breathing shallow. He had stopped coughing, but he was still quite close to death. Really, he's knocking on the damn devil's door right now.

"What to do, what to do," I mutter to myself as I throw him toward one of the miscellaneous chairs that were scattered around this abandoned warehouse. It was out of town, there was little to no chance of anyone finding this place.

The warehouse used to be a place that stored overstocked items from furniture stores and gun shops. There was much of the furniture and things left that none of the shops had retrieved. Ropes, guns, chairs, sofas, tables, and knives were all found around here, either in the thousands of cardboard boxes or someone laying on the floor.

"Hmmm," I trail off, shoving Shayley down into the chair. I grab one of the ropes that were in a medium-sized box covered in dust and spider webs and begin to secure him to the chair.

The chair was a creaky old thing. It looks like it was an attempt to make a rocking chair, but was failed horribly. In fact, it looked worse than Bourget does now.

I walk over to the table I set up with some of the useful items I discovered while wandering around the place. A few boxes were placed on top, each category color-coded.

"Each of these boxes is color-coded," I tell Bourget, pacing back and forth in front of the table. "Green is the least harmful, yellow being intermediate, orange being horrific, and last of all, red being skull and crossbones. Otherwise known as death."

I stop in my tracks, turning to Shayley. He looked afraid, but I could tell he was trying to mask it.

"Shall I continue?" I ask, smirking. I saw him gulp as he looked away from me. He stared with a frightened gaze at the four boxes.

"Shall I?" I ask again, waiting for an answer. I was beginning to get angry with him simply ignoring my question. If he doesn't answer soon, I might as well skip the other three colors and go straight for Red.

"Answer me, you fucking pathetic piece of shit!" I scream, subconsciously pulling out a whip from the Yellow box. I struck Bourget square in the face. I wasn't aware I had until he squealed out in pain. I grin.

"Oh, my bad, did I hurt you?" I ask, attempting to refrain from laughing my ass off. Oh, if only I had a camera to take a picture of this kid's face.

"Just fucking continue!" he hisses, lurching forward to only be held back by the ropes on the chair.

"You aren't going anywhere," I spit, slamming my foot down in front of him. He shows no fear, but I can see right through him like an open book. He's frightened -- exactly the reaction I am looking for. Fear ought to keep him away from Alan. My Alan.

"What do you fucking want from me?!" he screams, his voice boiling in anger. I can't help myself but snicker at him.

"Why, Bourget, I already told you what I wished," I say, my grin growing wider. "I told you to stay away, yet you didn't. I can't just let you get away with stealing my love away."

"I never stole-"

"Silence!" I shout in an ear-piercing matter.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he replies sassily, rolling his eyes.

"I'll fucking kill you!" I seethe, backing away slowly toward the orange box. It was so tempting just to go for the orange box, but I needed to keep him away from Alan. And how will I do that without murder? Torture.

"Just let me go!" Shayley yells, tears brimming in his dulled blue eyes.

"And why should I?" I question, crossing my arms. "What is your fucking pathetic excuse, scrub?" 

"Alan needs me because he's going to die! He has chronic osmosymbiosis!" Shayley screams, begging for his way.

Anger boils within me, and I immediately walk straight to the red box.


	16. Caught in the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still in alan's point of view

Shayley is dead.

Twenty-four hours later, and I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that he was gone.

My love, my one, and only love.

He's gone.

I had downloaded every song he ever sang from his iPod, it had been the only thing I kept on repeat.

It was morning now, two days after Shayley went missing. I missed him so much, and the thought of him was so heart-breaking. I don't know how I could survive without him. He was my rock, he was my love, he was my life... And that's all been ripped away from me.

Ripped away all over again.

Austin... I never wanted to hear that name, I never wanted to think that name, never speak it. Everything was great until one year ago.

People warned me his expertise was breaking hearts, tearing innocent people apart. I didn't listen, and I wish I had. The things I went through, it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth it at all.

He showed me grace, showed me love and what it was like to be treated like a princess... Until March thirty-first.

There were five days a year that always screwed me over for a few days before I regained composer, going back to the way I normally was.

Today was one of those five days. August 27th, November 9th, November 28th, March 31st and last of all.... November 19th.

That was the worst of them all.

August 27th was the day I first met Austin. It was at school, the first day of middle school, sixth grade to be exact. He was an eighth-grader, two years older than me.

The first conversation we ever had was in my reading class when he came in to drop off papers from the front office that were for my teacher. Later in the year, he switched from an office helper to my teacher's helper. We became friends quickly, sharing many interests and almost having practically the same personality.

I wish I never met him, I wish I never grew to like him, nor to love him. I wish that I never knew him, and I wish I never was stupid enough to get hurt by him.

Why couldn't I just listen?

November 9th was the day that he asked me out, and I remember that better than the back of my own hand. The bell had rung, ending the fifth period, my reading class. He asked me the very exact words of, "Alan, what would you say if I asked you out?"

I said, "I would say yes."

I have never regretted something more in my life.

November 28th was the day of our first kiss. In fact, my first kiss in general. I can't stress enough how much I regret that.

March 31st was the day things went downhill for the worse. There was no better, as things only got worse from there.

March 31st was the day that I received a text from him, the words being, "I think we should break up."

The words came from nowhere, he had never shown a sign of being unhappy, never shown a sign of wanting to leave. Earlier that day, he was his normal self. He was happy, and I could see the love in his eyes every time he looked at me.

To this day, I never found out why he would do such things that came later to the day.

November 19th.....

We don't talk about November 19th.

I snap out of my trance, back to reality. Immediately, I recognize the song that was playing.

Oh no....

I begin to shake, an overwhelming amount of feelings being created. I felt sadness, remorse, I felt depressed and as if I had an elephant sitting on my chest. I feel as I can't breathe, I feel as if I can't do anything except sit here.

_Stare at the stars, slowly inhale lies brought on. The past tense is now... Can you feel it?_

_Exhale with the thought of letting go of really, soon it will be pure again._

_So collapse your eyes, collide those lips with mine. Let your feet leave the Earth and float away...._

I couldn't handle these emotions, I can't handle this. Skye looked worryingly at me, but I couldn't even playoff as if I was okay.

I was shaking so badly, tears brimming in my eyes. My heart was beating so rapidly.

_Caught up with small talk, not used to this. Or maybe are you surprised that I failed to notice?_

_Timing means everything, or at least that's what you used to say. Sorry, I don't have any at all._

_So collapse your eyes, collide those lips with mine. Let your feet leave the Earth and float away...._

At this point, I was in full out sobs, but no one seemed to notice because of my quietness. Skye was trying to calm me down, but there was not a single thing that could make this feel okay. Only Shayley could make this feel alright, only Shayley could make me feel loved and cared for. Only Shayley could make me happy. But he wasn't here.

He was dead.

"Alan!" Skye violently whispered. She had been trying to get my attention for the past few minutes, but I didn't notice. I was too busy panicking over the little things. It wasn't anything new.

I looked over at her, noticing concern lacing her face. The worry in her blue eyes.

Shayley has blue eyes.

"He's g-gone," I said quietly, tears running down the sides of my cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Alan," she would reply over and over for every time I said he was gone.

That all happened in a matter of three minutes.

\--

I was walking home from school, back the crummy apartment I called home. I remember the day I first met Shayley, bringing him back here to give him a place to stay. I wasn't skeptical of him, never gave him background check or any of that. I was at such a low-point that I didn't care what he could've done to me, whether it be abuse, murder, or kidnapping me in a secret van.

I didn't understand why he wasn't reluctant to come with me. I had found out later that day why he was homeless, but yet I didn't understand why he wasn't scared of me. A stranger. Did he not care either?

"Alan!" I hear someone from behind me call. I turned my head around discreetly, seeing the familiar brunette's face that I've grown to hate.

I keep walking, picking up my pace. I ignore his calls.

"Alan!" Austin shouts once again. I hear his footsteps come closer and closer.

"Go A-" I start to shout, but he wraps his arms around me and covers my mouth, muffling my screams.

"You're not going anywhere," Austin says, grinning. I try to shake out of his grip, but I'm unsuccessful. 

I try to scream for him to let me go, but it was no use. All the sounds were obscure. Even if someone had heard me, there was no way they would understand me. 

Austin drags me away into a dark alley that was lead to an abandoned warehouse. The building was enormous, something you could easily get lost in if you didn't know your way around. It was dusty, dark and terrifying. 

He leads me into the building, which had rusty iron doors that squeaked loudly when Austin had opened them. 

"Recognise anything?" Austin asks me, smirking widely. 

"No-" I begin, but immediately stop speaking, leaving my mouth wide open. There was Shayley.

There was Shayley, laying on the floor, barely conscious in his own puddle of crimson red blood.


	17. The Devil in I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back in shayley's point of view.

"Recognise anything?" I heard Austin say. I didn't know who he was talking to, whether he was talking to me (AKA the guy whom was laying on the floor dying), or some other person. I tried to open my eyes, but that was simply something that my body absolutely refused to do.

I hear a gasp, steps moving. A muffled scream following shortly behind. I feel someone look over me as if they were crouching down, looking at me. Just staring at me, I can feel their eyes boring into my soul. Eyes like a car crash, they have to look away. They can't see me like this, no one should.

No one should ever see someone like this, when they're on their death bed - or death floor.

"What have you done?!" the mystery person screams. The voice is vaguely familiar, but I'm just too far out of it to think. It's a male, that is for sure. That voice... It's just so familiar.

"Oh," Austin chuckles. "Nothing too dangerous."

"What do you mean that this isn't dangerous!" they yell in anger, with a hint of fear. I could hear his voice crack, he was fearful. Maybe even sad, but I don't know who else would care to see me dying here... Except for Alan.

Alan...

And then it clicks in my head.

"A-Alan," I croak. I doubt that he - or anyone for that matter of fact - would have understood what I had spoken, or that he would even realize that I had said something. It was quiet, it was weak, and most of all, I was not the important fact at this moment in time. It was the fact that there was a cold-blooded human who's intentions were anything but gold standing in a weaponry warehouse with two people he hated.

It's not going to end well. As much as I hate to say this (for multiple reasons), it's going to end badly. Odds are, it will be another Titanic story. Except not like Titanic at all. Whatever, same difference.

"Sha-"

"Alan, there's no use in trying to save your excuse-for-a-boyfriend's pity soul. He's shit, he's ugly, he's horrendous, he's getting kicked out of his own band! Why would you love somebody who's just some terribly troubled little boy?"

"BECAUSE AT LEAST HE DOESN'T TRY TO PULL SHIT ON ME!" Alan shouts, startling me, and Austin too.

"What do you ever so mean, Ashby?" Austin hisses.

"HE DOESN'T TREAT ME LIKE SHIT. HE DOESN'T CARE IF I SUCK AT GIVING BLOWJOBS. HE DOESNT MAKE ME DO EVERYTHING FOR HIM. HE DOESNT CHEAT AND TRIES TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE HE DIDNT. HE DOESNT DO ANYTHING SHADY, NOR HAS HE EVER ONCE FUCKING HIT ME. HE NEVER HAS INTENTIONALLY STARTED FIGHTS, HES NEVER DONE ANYTHING OF THE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING SHIT YOUVE DONE AND THAT IS WHY I LOVE HIM AND NOT YOU!"

"Oh please, that boy wouldn't know a good blowjob even if it bit him in the ass!" Austin mutters.

"WHOS TO SAY THAT MAYBE _YOU_ SUCK AT BLOWJOBS? HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT OF THAT?" Alan screams.

"Al-l, y-you gotta St-top pushi-ing yours-self," I try to say over their arguments, over their screaming, their yelling, their horrifying words toward each other.

"A-Al," I stammer, trying to get their attention, but I was failing.

"Alan.." I croak, before feeling an overwhelming amount of dizziness. I could feel every drop of blood that left my body through the numerous cuts and bruises.

"Alan," I say, before the darkness takes over and I pass out again.


	18. I Need Your Love....

This. This isn't happening. What has become of my life? I never understood what had happened these past few months, and I don't think my roommate had either. Met me as a bum on the street, and offering to let me stay at his house in the same damned day. Arguing over a bed and who'll sleep in it or the couch, hell, I don't understand how the hell it went from something so simple to meet a man named Austin and being put near death. What is this? Is this... Is this really what I think? Was this not meant to be?

I hadn't really ever believed the slightest in those crazy tales they say. You know.. the ones where they say if you let something go and if it returns, it's truly yours and truly loves you? I didn't ever believe in those types of things. Always thinking they were some type of hoax or something that just didn't make any logical sense. The term 'third time's the charm' was included in that category. 

It felt like time was standing still. I was floating, least that's how it felt. Laying down in a pool of crimson red blood, taking in my surroundings. There was Austin, cackling to himself at his actions. I don't even want to get into the fact that he's a sicko and should be sent to some penitentiary or some fucking insane asylum. 

Alan was standing in utter shock, but that's something that's plain out obvious. How could you not be in shock if you see someone you care for being killed in front of your very eyes? How could anyone just watch there and see someone die? Who could do that? What person can stand there, and watch, and do not a single thing to save your soul? 

It felt like it was all a dream, something that would be laughed about a family dinner in the future, something that seemed like a funny prank or a joking event. Death was no laughing matter. Neither was this very action that Austin was committing. I wasn't scared to die, but losing Alan, or better yet, letting Alan lose me, was the thought that scared me beyond straight. I didn't want to lose Alan, but most of all, I didn't want him to lose me. 

And in a matter of seconds, time unfroze, flashing by my eyes. 

"SHAYLEY!" Alan screams, bringing myself out of my time-frozen dream. I was drifting, I was dazed. I felt drunk, but yet I also felt as if I were high on drugs. I felt so much pain, but yet I felt numb. It was a scary feeling to describe. 

"Give it up!" Austin yells, pushing Alan away from me. At this point, I didn't even know if I was still alive. Was I simply just... here? Was I just a spirit who was just... I don't even know where this thought process is going. 

_Screaming for that final way  
Who's to find you through this thick unsturdy hall _

"He's dead Alan, give it the fuck up!" Austin tries to scream and shout, but Alan denies. 

_All that hails to the king of fame  
will not live to see the day denial_

"NO, I WON'T!" Alan shouts back in return. "I won't ever give up, even if he dies. I won't give up, and I will never come back to you."

_Cause they're making us,  
And faking us into colonies that they hide from _

"And if you want to know fucking why," Alan continues, breathing heavily. He had blood running down from his nose. Austin must've punched him. Slowly, I was losing consciousness. 

_Paying with shipments  
No guarantees no returns _

"It's because I love him."

_A product of the provider is  
I think I see oh no it couldn't be _

"You can't," Austin says unsteadily. He was shaking, or so it seemed. It could have been my shaky vision, the simple fact that I was dying. I didn't want to accept it, but there was nothing else I could do. I was dying. 

_The golden ticket to heaven_

"And I don't love you," Alan finishes. 

_Cause they're making us,  
And faking us into colonies that they hide from   
To predict the ties of infamy is to paralyze the heart and soul of life _

"But how could you love him?" Austin asks. It seemed he was genuinlly confused, but so was I. How could he love me? I was kicked out of my band by my only friends who I've known almost my whole life. I was disliked by his friend Aaron. Austin hated me, but who was to question that? My parents stopped caring for me when they discovered I was gay. There's nobody left that I have. There's just Alan, and I don't think I'll ever understand why he loves me as long as I live -- especially if my living time ends today. 

_Incase the earth before sunrise  
It all seems familiar   
Men dressed up, disguised,  
but you can not defeat the eyes _

"You can not defeat the eyes," Alan says quietly, quoting one of the songs I had written previously. He walks around Austin, picking me up from the ground. Slowly, my eyes flutter shut. 

_You can not defeat the eyes...._


	19. ...Like a Boy Needs His Mother's Side

"Oh, Shayley... Why did this have to happen to you...?" Alan mumbles, sighing softly. He seemed more upset than he has been the past few days.

A few hours prior, Alan had walked us all the way down to the hospital. It was an easy fix for them -- simply patch up the miscellaneous holes that has blood pouring from them. I had a few blood transfusions and a cast put on my arm, which Austin had apparently broken. I didn't notice that it was bent in such a painful, and inhumane way.

"I don't know," I reply, fiddling around with the hard plastic around my right wrist.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry this had to happen," he apologizes. It must've been (at least) the twentieth time he's apologized for this mess.

"It's not your fault," I tell him, again. The conversation had been pinpointed on this argument for a while. Alan didn't seem to understand that it was fine, that it wasn't his fault. It was Austin's.

Speaking of Austin, I'm sure he'll get his karma within the next day or so. After we got here, the hospital asked plenty of questions. Some like "Who did this?" or "How did this happen".

"I shouldn't have let Austin know who you were," Alan says, breaking me from my thoughts.

"It's not your fault, Alan."

"But it is!"

"Alan, please understand that it's not," I beg.

"You can't tell me it's not when he tried to kill you because of me!"

"I can tell you that because it wasn't you who caused it. Alan, he was being delusional. A crazy ex," I say, reaching out to place my hand on his cheek. "It's okay, I'm gonna be okay, we're gonna be okay."

"Yeah," he says, trying to calm himself. He nods slowly, looking at me. "Okay. We're... We're gonna be okay."

"I love you, Alco," I whisper, smiling at him softly.

"I love you too, Shayko."


End file.
